All That Matters
by Andromeda and the Sea Monster
Summary: How would the lives of the Crawley family have been different if Dr Clarkson had been right and Matthew had broken his back? I promise this won't be depressing! Includes most of the characters from the first two series, but focuses mainly on Mary and Matthew. I wasn't sure about ratings, so I went too high rather than too low.
1. Chapter 1

_**I wrote this after coming across an open letter to Julian Fellowes on a blog (** 2012/02/20/an-open-letter-to-julian-fellows-regarding-matthew-crawleys-miraculous-recovery/ **) commenting on the fact that when, for once, it looked as if there would be a disabled main character in a TV series, he miraculously recovered. I decided that it would be interesting to explore how the lives of the Crawley family might have been different if Matthew had not regained the use of his legs. This first chapter is a bit depressing, but it won't all be like this. Enjoy!**_

 **Chapter One**

Matthew lay flat on his back and stared at the familiar white ceiling of his tiny ground floor room in Downton Abbey. How many nights had he lain here, alone in the silence of the night, wishing he were dead? At the front, the men prayed to be spared and to return home safely to their families. They prayed for the war to end. They prayed their wives and girls would stay faithful to them in their long absence. But they also prayed to be killed cleanly with a bullet to the head or some vital organ. They prayed not to end up like he was now; a pathetic, useless cripple, a disappointment and a burden to his family. Not even a man.

God, that hurt almost more than the loss of the use of his legs. He could never be a proper husband. He could never marry. He couldn't do that to any woman, never mind one he loved so deeply, so completely…

And there he had to stop himself thinking. Because he wasn't thinking of Lavinia, who was still technically his fiancée. He was thinking of Mary.

Mary, with her deep brown eyes and her shiny chocolate brown hair. She was, beyond doubt, the most beautiful woman in the world to him. And there had been a time when he had thought she would be his. But that was years ago, before the war, before… this.

She was only up the stairs, probably fast asleep in her bed. But she may as well have been the other side of the world. The thought of her, beautiful and innocent in her sleep but far out of his reach, was torture to him. It came to him suddenly that he had never seen her asleep, and probably never would. This seemed somehow sad.

Lavinia was sleeping somewhere in the house too of course, but although he knew it should, this meant nothing to him. She was a sweet, kind, pretty girl, and she had inherited her father's intelligence. But she was a girl whereas Mary was a woman. He supposed he did love her, when Mary wasn't around to compare her with, but he wondered if his attraction to Lavinia had been a result of his grief over what had happened with Mary before the War. She was so entirely different from Mary, in looks and character.

But none of that really mattered now. He was a useless lump, not fit to be anyone's husband.

Why on earth had Lavinia come back? Why had she come back to him, knowing she was coming back to a cripple? She had come back changed too, no longer so timid and shy. She had come back determined to marry him. He knew of course that Cousin Cora had had something to do with it. She didn't want him getting too close to Mary, didn't want her eldest daughter shackled to a helpless cripple who could never give her children for the rest of her life. He understood and wholeheartedly agreed, but somehow it still hurt, and he couldn't get rid of the unpleasant idea that Cora was willing to sacrifice Lavinia to the same fate because she wasn't family.

The old Lavinia would have been easy to force away. It would be hard for her in the first weeks and months, she really did seem to love him, even now, but it would have been kinder in the long run. This new confident and determined Lavinia was different though. How on earth could he make her see what her life would be if she married him: the life of a nursemaid, caring for him for the rest of their lives?

Well, his life. Dr Clarkson had informed him in his usual matter-of–fact way that his life expectancy was much shorter now. The immobility and consequent weakening of his body would make him more susceptible to illness, apparently. And there was the constant threat of infections. He would in all likelihood die before Lavinia. Most men like him died within a few months from some infection. A pathetic end, precisely what they prayed would not happen to them. At least he would not have to bear this horrible life for long. Death no longer held any fear for him. The worst had already happened.

It wasn't just Lavinia though. Mary may be engaged to that bastard Carlisle, but he remembered the tenderness and truthfulness in her eyes when she had said 'on any terms'. It had been tempting, too tempting, to forget everything and say yes, a thousand times yes. But he had resisted. He simply could not do that to Mary. And now Lavinia was back, if he married anyone, it would have to be her. They were engaged, and Matthew could not stand the idea of breaking his promise only to marry Mary.

And he wasn't at all certain that Mary loved him anyway. If she did, then why did she hesitate to accept his proposal fore the war?

He wished he could simply disappear. This whole situation was impossible.

He thought about William. He knew he could never have forgiven himself if William had died, and he nearly had. If William had died saving him so he could live this pathetic half-life… But William hadn't died. Everyone had thought he would, and he'd married Daisy on what had seemed to be his deathbed. But somehow he'd pulled through and was apparently recovering well. This did cheer Matthew up a little. He and William had become much more than master and servant in their months at the front; they had become great friends. But even this couldn't break through the cloud of despair and depression Matthew felt.

Then there was that Major Gordon who may or may not be Patrick. Matthew had never thought he would want to be the heir; he remembered his desperate wish when he first arrived that this would not change him. He had not welcomed the news that he was the heir at all.

And yet, now it was under threat, he realised how much he felt like part of the family now, how much his life had become centred on this great house and the estate. What would he have if it turned out that the Major was Patrick Crawley? Robert would let him and his mother keep Crawley house. But could he bear to live here, on the charity of others? Could he work now? He couldn't see anyone wanting to hire a crippled lawyer when there were plenty of able-bodied ones about. What on earth would he do?

But for the family, he supposed it would be a blessing for Patrick to have reappeared. At least he would be able to father an heir to follow him as Earl, something Matthew thought painfully he would never be able to do.

Matthew started to roll onto his side to get into the curled up foetal position he normally slept in, then remembered he couldn't turn on his own anymore and that it was up to the nurses to decide what position he slept in. He sighed deeply and closed his eyes, trying to ignore the pain in his back from his feeble attempt to turn. Mother had always told him to think of happy things when he couldn't sleep as a child, but he simply was not capable of thinking anything happy now. His life was like a nightmare that he would never wake up from. He resigned himself to yet another sleepless night.

 _The mud was everywhere, dark and thick and deep, stained red with blood. So much blood. There were men lying dead or dying scattered everywhere, their groans drowned out by the deafening guns. She tried to run, but the mud held her fast, it glued her to the spot. She looked around at the bodies, nameless and pathetic. They all seemed the same. No, nearly all. There was one who seemed horribly familiar. No, it couldn't be. But the blond hair was visible underneath the helmet and the mud, and the beautiful, beloved blue eyes stared unseeing up at her. Matthew! Noooo…_

Mary woke with a start, her heart hammering at an impossible speed. It was a familiar sensation. She had had nightmares about Matthew being killed since he had left for France in 1914. How long ago that was. It took her a minute to remind herself that Matthew was no longer in danger, he was home, downstairs. Wounded, but alive. She had a sudden longing to run down there in her nightgown, fling his door open and take him in her arms, feel his reassuring presence and know for certain that he was safe.

She didn't of course. She was Lady Mary Crawley, eldest daughter of the Earl of Grantham. She was engaged. Matthew was engaged. She thought painfully that if only she hadn't listened to Aunt Rosamund's advice, she would be married to him now, and she would be able to hold and comfort him every night.

But there was no point thinking like that. She couldn't even be sure that she would have married him anyway. She would have had to tell him about Kemal, and wasn't sure she could have done it. She simply couldn't bear the thought of him knowing what she had done, what she was. A whore. He would despise her, him and his precious honour, and he would be right to. And Richard Carlisle was all that stopped the whole world from discovering her shame.

She turned over and buried her face in the pillow, trying to shut out the world and the thoughts of her future married to a man she could barely say truthfully that she liked, never mind loved like she loved Matthew. Emotion welled up inside her and it was all she could do to prevent herself from crying out loud. A few tears dampened the pillow, but she controlled herself quickly. She had cried enough recently. She had sealed her fate when she took a lover all those years ago. It was her fault, and she should be glad that Richard was willing both to protect her from scandal and to marry her even though he knew the truth.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She had to sleep. She would have to rise early the next morning to help with the running of the convalescent home. She had never expected to actually want to help, but the thought that any one of the men here could be loved as deeply by a woman like her as Matthew was made her want to do what she would want another woman to do for Matthew. It was not long before she drifted back into a restless and unhappy sleep.

 ** _Yes, William is alive. I just love him too much to write a story that starts just after his death._**

 ** _I would be so grateful for constructive criticism. I will try to update every week, but since this is my first FanFiction, I don't know how realistic that is. I'm not sure how long this FanFic will be. I suppose I'll just wait and see._**


	2. Chapter 2

**_Chapter Two_**

 _They stood in silence and waited for the clock to chime, Matthew joining the line of officers and the line of the family. The War was over. As the clock solemnly chimed eleven, everyone present thought what changes, what losses the War had brought._

 _Mary watched Matthew from under her eyelashes, hoping nobody would notice. His face was grim as he sat straight in his chair, obviously humiliated that he couldn't stand to attention like most of the other officers were doing. It was almost like physical pain for her to see him so unhappy. But what did she know of pain? All these men had suffered more than she ever would. And they were the lucky ones, the ones who had survived the horrors of the trenches to come home. Of course, life would never be the same as it had been before for them. They had horrific memories, and some had permanent disabilities. Matthew…_

 _Lord Grantham's mind was also on his heir, whom he had come to love as the son he never had. What would Matthew do now? He was of course welcome at Downton Abbey forever, but would he want to stay? He had always been so fiercely and stubbornly independent. He would stay for a while, the house would stay a convalescent home into the New Year, and he was not yet strong. But then?_

 _What was going to happen about an heir now? Matthew could never have a child now, and who on earth would the next heir be? They had been lucky that Matthew, a middle–class lawyer had adapted so well to being the heir to a title and a great estate. It was less likely they would be lucky again. Should he find out who the new heir was now, and ask him, whoever he was, to Downton? No, he couldn't do that to Matthew. Matthew was unhappy enough as it was._

 _Perhaps in light of this, it really was as Matthew had said, a blessing in disguise that a man claiming to be Patrick had turned up now. But somehow, Robert simply couldn't see it that way. How would they ever know the man was Patrick? His accent was Canadian, but that could be explained. It was impossible to tell what the man had looked like before having his face burned beyond recognition. But Robert felt no connection to the man who claimed to be the cousin who spent half his life in this house, and he loved Matthew like a son._

 _And then there was Mary. What was going on between her, Matthew, Carlisle and Lavinia? Cora had of course brought Lavinia back to stop Mary and Matthew from getting too close. Typical Cora, typical American. Matthew was still insisting he would never marry, Lavinia was still insisting that she still wanted to marry him. And Robert was still certain that Mary would never be happy with anyone but Matthew, regardless of whether he had the use of his legs or not. The whole situation was too complicated, too difficult. And it didn't help that he didn't understand Mary at all. He had lived in the same house as her for her whole life, but he felt he barely knew her. She had suddenly become so cool and reserved when she was fourteen or so, nobody could ever read her emotions._

 _With Matthew though, she was different. There was a tenderness and a sensitivity in her that Robert had only seen when she was with Matthew. Robert was torn between a longing to see his daughter happy, and a desire to have her settled as a wife and mother. Why she had chosen Carlisle was beyond him, but he was rich, and getting richer. Besides which, there was no point thinking of a match between Mary and Matthew with them both engaged to someone else. And was it right for a father to encourage his daughter to marry a man who could never give her children or be a proper husband to her?_

 _Even though he kept telling himself this, he could hardly help noticing the longing look Mary was giving Matthew from under her eyelashes, thinking nobody would notice._

 _Robert forced his mind back to the solemn ceremony. He was of course glad the War was over, how could he not be? But he couldn't feel joy. The war had changed everything, who knew what kind of world they would all have to face now? So many young men dead and crippled, and for what? Was the world a better place now? Had their sacrifice, Matthew's sacrifice, been worth it?_

 _He looked at William, standing to attention with difficulty. He had insisted in being present, despite that fact that he had hardly been well enough to be out of bed. Robert didn't think he had ever been more grateful to anyone than he was to William Mason now. William had almost made the ultimate sacrifice saving Matthew. The thought that his heir, whom he loved as a son, had come so close to death was horrible and unthinkable. Matthew was home safely now though, and the war was over. There would be no more young men killed and crippled now._

 _The minute's silence ended, and the nurses started to lead the officers out of the Hall. Carson ensured the staff returned to work. The family began to leave._

 _Lavinia came up behind Matthew's chair and started to push him back to his room. Bates appeared._

 _"_ _Let me do that," he said gently to Lavinia. She moved away, and Bates hung his stick on the back of the wheelchair._

 _"_ _Thank you. Could you take him back to his room? I'll get the doors." Lavinia rushed forward as Bates pushed Matthew's chair towards the corridor where his little room was._

 _Matthew knew that if anyone had asked him, he would have asked to be taken to his room. He wanted to be alone. But the point was, nobody had asked him. Nobody asked him anything anymore. They just pushed him wherever they wanted. Everyone thought they knew what was best for him. His life was no longer his own, he could control nothing, not even his own body._

 _Bates had a fairly good idea what was going on in Matthew's head, and stayed quiet until they reached Matthew's room, where he lifted him onto the bed, asked if he needed anything else, and left._

 _Matthew had been hoping for some time alone to think; about the war, the friends he'd lost and what he was going to do now it was over. But Lavinia had perched herself on the end of his bed, and looked as if she was planning to stay a while. He couldn't think of a polite way to make her leave, so he resigned himself to the likelihood of having yet another argument with Lavinia about the future._

 _"_ _Isn't it such a relief this horrible war is finally over. I was starting to think it would never end!" Lavinia said brightly. Matthew tried and failed to come up with a polite and equally cheerful answer._

 _"_ _I suppose it is a relief, but no war lasts forever," he muttered._

 _Lavinia took a deep breath and tried again._

 _"_ _Now we can start to think about our future, to make plans."_

 _Matthew scowled. 'Our future'. He knew where this conversation was going._

 _"_ _We've been engaged for two years, Matthew. Now the war is over, why don't we set a date?" Lavinia fiddled with the corner of the sheets as she spoke._

 _Matthew felt a familiar anger rise inside him. How many times did he have to tell her?_

 _"_ _We are not getting married, Lavinia. We've been through this. I cannot be a proper husband to you, I cannot give you children. I have nothing to offer you. I will not condemn you to the life of a nursemaid. You're still young. Find someone who is worthy of you. Forget me now. Remember me as I was." Matthew spoke bitterly, and Lavinia could hear the sincerity in his words._

 _"_ _This," she said, gesturing to Matthew's legs, "changes nothing-"_

 _"_ _This changes everything," he almost shouted._

 _"_ _I still love you…" she attempted, but Matthew interrupted._

 _"_ _I don't care, Lavinia! It is not what you feel now that bothers me. It is what you would feel in the future. You would come to hate me, no don't interrupt, you would come to hate me because I can never be a proper husband to you, and you would be a nursemaid for the rest of your life. I couldn't bear that. I couldn't do that to you. Please try to understand, Lavinia." Matthew saw tears well up in Lavinia's eyes as he finished speaking. He felt terrible for shouting and making her unhappy, but it was for her own good in the long term. She would see that one day._

 _Lavinia opened her mouth to say something, but changed her mind and closed it._

 _"_ _I'm tired. Please let me rest a while," Matthew said, staring at the sheets because he couldn't bear to see the pain in her eyes. At least he now had a perfect way of being left alone when he wanted. Everyone always believed him when he said he was tired. And he supposed he wasn't lying; he was always weary, always in pain._

 _Lavinia rose and straightened her skirt. As she left the room, she looked back at Matthew._

 _"_ _You won't push me away again. I love you. Nothing will ever change that. I will change your mind, Matthew."_

 _He didn't have the energy to argue, and simply sighed and sank back onto the soft pillows._

 _Mary had been unusually quiet as Anna helped her get ready for bed. Normally they talked companionably, and often Anna stayed longer than was strictly speaking required, just so they could talk. Anna knew Mary as nobody else did. She knew the real Mary, not the cold, distant, beautiful Lady Mary Crawley that Mary presented to the rest of the world. Anna knew all her secrets, and Anna often confided in Mary about her relationship with Bates._

 _Tonight though, Mary was silent and Anna knew better than to try to make her talk._

 _Mary was thinking about Matthew. She hardly thought about anyone else any more. What would he do now the war was over? She selfishly wished he would stay at Downton forever, but knew him well enough to know that he would want to be as independent as possible as soon as possible. Perhaps he would go back to living with Isobel in Crawley House, although it was a small house if one could only use the rooms downstairs. He wouldn't be able to live alone. The other possibility was too painful to think about: that he might marry Lavinia after all._

 _She glanced up at the mirror and saw that Anna was looking at her with concern. She tried to give a weak smile to reassure Anna, but somehow her face wouldn't do it, and she looked down quickly so Anna wouldn't notice that she was close to tears._

 _"_ _Tell him how you feel, mi' lady," Anna said suddenly, unable to watch Mary suffer silently any longer._

 _Mary jumped, shocked at the sudden intrusion into her thoughts. How did Anna always know precisely what she was thinking?_

 _"_ _You know why I have to marry Sir Richard, Anna. You know my shame. Whatever I told Matthew would not change anything. I cannot bring scandal down on this house and this family when I have it in my power to prevent it. Besides which, Matthew loves Miss Swire, and he's still…" she broke off, bit her lip, then continued, "He's still engaged to her, Anna."_

 _Anna was sad to see Mary so unhappy. It had always been so complicated between her and Mr Matthew. Everyone else could see they loved each other, had loved each other for years, yet somehow, neither of them seemed capable of believing that the other loved them. At least between Anna herself and Mr Bates they both knew where they stood. They might not be able to be together, but they both understood why, and they both knew that they would marry the moment John was free to do so._

 _Anna pretended to be deeply absorbed in plaiting Mary's hair for the night, so she didn't have to answer Mary._

 _"_ _Anna? Do you think you could be happy with a man you didn't love?"_

 _Anna knew that Mary was thinking of Sir Richard._

 _"_ _No, mi' lady. I will marry the man I love, or I will not marry at all. I know it's different for other women, for Ladies like you, but for me, no, I could never be happy with a man I did not love."_

 _Mary lapsed into silence again, thinking about what Anna had said. She supposed Anna was right. But it was not happiness she wanted from Sir Richard. It was safety and security. He had the power to utterly destroy her, and she knew him well enough to know that he would not hesitate to use this power if she did not marry him. She was trapped in a snare she had created herself, and there was no way to free herself._

 _Anna finished the plait, tied the ribbon carefully and stood back a little, watching Mary. Mary rose slowly from the stool and walked over to her bed, sitting down at the end of it and gestured for Anna to leave. Anna was tempted to stay, not wanting to leave Mary like this, unhappy and uncertain. But her training as a servant made her leave. She may be as close to friends with Mary as it was possible for a maid and her mistress to be, but that didn't change the fact that she was a servant, and Lady Mary was, well, a Lady. She left, closing the door behind her._


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

It wasn't long after the end of the War that the trucks full of new injured officers stopped arriving to replace the ones who were leaving. Slowly Downton Abbey was returning to being a private home. As there was less and less to do, everyone felt a mixture of relief and uselessness. Everyone had become accustomed to always having something to do, and Sybil in particular couldn't remember what she used to do every day before the War. She wandered aimlessly around the house, looking for tasks to perform, people to help, and finding that there was often nothing useful she could do.

She found herself drawn more and more often to the garage and Tom Branson. He reminded her of the world outside and beyond Downton, of the lives other people were getting on with now the war was over while hers seemed to be slowly ending and returning to how it had always been: purposeless and trivial. Of course, he was pestering her for an answer, but although this annoyed her a little, it also reminded her that there was an escape if she wanted it.

Christmas loomed up suddenly. Nobody had really got excited about Christmas during the War; it seemed wrong to celebrate with so many men away fighting in the trenches. But now the War was over, it seemed right to celebrate properly. They could hardly have a large party or invite guests to stay with some of the officers still there and half the rooms still being used for them, but even with rationing making it difficult, Robert in particular wanted to have a Christmas like the ones before the War.

The atmosphere in the house was more relaxed since Major Gordon had gone, disappeared, leaving a letter saying it was too hard to convince the family he was Patrick. Edith was heartbroken all over again, but to Mary it proved beyond a doubt in her mind that the man was not Patrick. She had not loved Patrick, but she had known him well. And Patrick would never have given up like that.

One frosty morning in early December, Mary was pushing Matthew around the garden in his chair. Since Lavinia's return, they had stopped this, without ever having to actually discuss it. But today Lavinia had gone to visit her Father in London. He was ill again, not dangerously so, but Lavinia didn't want to leave him alone, and she would be gone a few days. Mary and Matthew had both missed this time together. Talking with Mary was the only time Matthew had felt anything approaching happiness since he had come home.

Matthew plucked at the blanket Mary had insisted on placing over his legs when they went out in the freezing weather.

"You do realise I can't feel the cold, don't you," he said.

"That doesn't mean you don't get cold, only that you don't realise you are. Besides, your mother insisted and I don't dare to go against her orders," she replied.

"Since when do you follow orders, Lady Mary?" Matthew asked playfully.

"Since I agreed with them."

"It's bad enough being a cripple without looking like an invalid too," he muttered, scowling down at the blanket. Mary's heart clenched with sympathy for him, but she was also angry; she couldn't bear that word. She stopped pushing the chair and walked around to face him, standing in silence until he looked up.

"I wish you wouldn't call yourself that, Matthew. Would you be as cruel to any of the officers here as you are to yourself?" She spoke sharply, and Matthew couldn't help but see the logic in her words. But she didn't understand.

"No, but that's different…" he began, but stopped when he found that he couldn't really explain why it was different.

Mary nodded, looking satisfied, and went back behind him to continue pushing. When they reached her favourite bench, underneath the tree, she stopped and sat down, knowing Matthew preferred to look at her when they spoke.

She wanted to have a pleasant, teasing conversation with him, it would allow them both to forget their worries for a while and cheer them up. Somehow though, she just couldn't start. There were too many serious matters on her mind. Eventually she gave in and said,

"So will you marry Lavinia then?" It came out rushed, and a little louder than she had intended.

Matthew looked up, surprised. There had been an unspoken agreement between them not to talk about Lavinia and Sir Richard.

"I mean," she began more calmly, "You have been engaged for two years, and she… she clearly loves you very much." Mary tried to smile and failed, so she looked away, waiting for Matthew to answer. 'I love her very much too,' she imagined him saying.

"I'm not fit to marry anyone, Mary, never mind a sweet young girl like Lavinia. I refuse to ruin her life. I don't want to talk about it."

Mary was saddened to hear him talk like that, but also secretly glad that he had called Lavinia only a 'sweet girl' and hadn't mentioned love. She knew her thoughts made little sense. If he wouldn't marry Lavinia, he wouldn't marry her, and anyway, she had to marry Richard, so what did any of it matter anyway? Surely she should want Matthew to be happily married to a woman who loved him. But somehow, much as she liked Lavinia, she couldn't bear the thought of her becoming Matthew's wife.

It came to her suddenly that she had spent most of her life expecting to marry for duty and security, not love. If she had never met Matthew, she would have been happy enough to marry a man of her parents choosing or anyone with money and position. She could have ended up with someone far worse than Richard.

But she had met Matthew and she now knew what it was to feel love for a man. It was both wonderful and painful. It was caring for someone more than she cared for herself. It was feeling pain when he felt pain, and joy when he felt joy. It made it impossible not to compare any other man with him, and always find them wanting.

But even though loving Matthew had made everything more difficult and more complicated, she would not change her feelings if she could. Loving him had changed her, and for the better. There were moments with him when she had been so exquisitely happy. They may be in the past now, but they would remain in her memory forever.

"So will you marry Carlisle then?" he asked her suddenly, using the same words as she had.

"I have to," she replied simply. What else could she say? There was no use pretending she loved him, Matthew knew her too well. And she couldn't say more, or she would find herself telling Matthew, and that she vowed she would never do.

Matthew looked as though he was about to speak, so she added

"And I don't want to talk about it either."

They were silent for several minutes, each trying to understand the other and failing, needing to ask questions but knowing they would not be answered. Eventually, Mary forced her mind back to the present.

"Are you looking forward to Christmas?" she asked in a falsely cheerful voice. She was aware even as she spoke how pathetic her question sounded, but she had to say something, and Christmas seemed like a fairly safe subject.

Matthew was about to give a short and probably rude reply, but stopped himself, understanding her need to say something, anything.

"It will be the first Christmas I've spent in this country since 1913. I suppose that's something. But really, there doesn't seem to be much to celebrate. The birth, nearly two thousand years ago, of the son of a God I'm not even sure I believe in. It's hard to get excited about anything these days anyway since..." he trailed off, guessing correctly that Mary would understand what he meant. He found it hard to feel anything other than sadness and indifference now. Christmas was hardly likely to change that.

"Is Lavinia staying here or with her father?" Mary asked, hoping the latter was true.

"I'm not sure," he replied, "I don't think she knows herself. I know Cousin Cora will be keen for both her and Sir Richard to be here." His voice was bitter. He knew Cora was worried there was still a chance for him and Mary. He agreed that it would not be fair for him to marry Mary, he would not even consider it. But even though he agreed with Cousin Cora, it still hurt that she was so against him. It made him feel like even more of a cripple. He also resented her interference. He, Mary, Lavinia and Sir Richard Carlisle were adults, and capable of making their own decisions, without being manipulated.

The conversation stopped again. The silence was at first awkward, but soon they both relaxed and it became friendly and companionable. Mary looked up at Matthew's face and saw to her surprise that he was smiling, a rare sight these days. She smiled back. He reached out and took her hand in his.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm in such a foul mood all the time. None of this is your fault, I shouldn't take it out on you." His voice was soft.

"It's quite alright…" she began, but he cut across her.

"No, it's not. None of this is your fault. You have been wonderful, Mary. You realise the only time I'm not desperately unhappy is when I'm with you, and then I always ruin it."

Mary smiled and squeezed his hand gently to let him know he was forgiven.

"Do you… do you ever think about what might have happened if things had gone… if I had behaved differently back before the war? If I had said yes that night, instead of saying I'd think about it?" she asked tentatively.

Matthew sighed deeply before replying. It was as if she had read his mind. It was the question which most often occupied his mind.

"Of course I do. It was all I could think about for a while." He broke off, recalling that time, when he was training for the army, and every night was spent in torment, wondering why Mary had not accepted his proposal immediately. Sometimes he thought it was the money and title, but somehow, the way Mary had behaved, when he thought hard about it (too late, of course), didn't seem to fit with that theory. Recently, he had been more and more sure that there was something else, some unknown factor that had influenced her decision. "Oh Mary, what is it you aren't telling me? Why couldn't you say yes? Was it the money and the title, or was it something else? Why do you _have_ to marry Carlisle when it's clear to everyone, even him, probably, that you can't stand the man?"

"I… I can't tell you. I just can't. I'm sorry." There were tears in her eyes.

"You can. You can tell me anything Mary. Anything. I…I have to know," he said quietly.

Mary fought internally with herself. She was bursting to tell someone, desperate not to have this secret between her and Matthew. Maybe he would despise her, but she hated having any secret between them. She knew she could trust him not to tell anyone. But then who mattered as much as Matthew? He was the person she wanted to know least, but also the person she wanted to tell most.

Matthew watched her struggle with herself, and the desire to know what made her so unhappy became more and more intense. Finally she looked up, and it appeared as if she was going to say something.

"There you two are. It's almost time for lunch you know. And it's freezing out here."

It was Isobel. Mary instantly put on her invisible mask, an expression that showed no genuine emotion. The moment for telling Matthew had passed, and although she felt some relief, she could not be entirely glad.

Isobel took Matthew's chair and started to push it back to the house, embarrassed because she was aware she had interrupted something. Mary rose from the bench and followed a few paces behind.

Matthew mentally cursed his mother for interrupting them at that crucial moment. It had seemed that Mary was really about to reveal her secret. He twisted around in his chair to look at her. From her expression, he knew that the moment had passed and would likely not come again. At least he had established that there was a reason though. Mary didn't hesitate because she didn't love him or because of the money. She didn't want to marry Carlisle because she loved him or wanted his money. Matthew suspected that the bastard had some sort of hold over Mary. He likely he knew her mysterious secret. Matthew decided to devote himself to discovering this secret and releasing Mary from Carlisle's clutches. He could not marry Mary, but her happiness was still the most important thing in the world to him.

He would find out, he vowed to himself. He had plenty of time on his hands.

* * *

Daisy clutched her basket tightly, her knuckles white. If she hadn't been doing so, her hands would have been trembling uncontrollably. She was terrified. But when she tried to think what precisely she was afraid of, she didn't know. It wasn't as if she hadn't seen William recently; she had spent every spare moment she had with him while he had been convalescing at Downton Abbey. To begin with, after their marriage, it had been through choice. He had needed her and she was so fond of him, she couldn't stay away.

But as he had begun to recover, much to the doctor's surprise, the familiar guilt had begun to plague her again. He had started to talk about the future, their future, and it had suddenly dawned on Daisy that she was going to spend the rest of her life with William. She had known she had to tell him the truth about how she felt, but had told herself she would do it when he was stronger. She had stopped wanting to see him so much, and it had been Mrs Patmore who had kept sending her up.

But at least back at Downton Abbey there had been other people coming in and out, doctors, nurses, occasionally even members of the family. She had been able to claim that she had work to do and leave if William started asking her about what she wanted to do in the future.

Now he was home, resting and spending time with his father before he returned to work, and she had been given the whole day off to go and visit him. She had been given a basket full of Mrs Patmore's best food, and now she was on her way to see him. Her husband. The word still sounded strange to her, unfamiliar and as if it was describing someone else, not her William.

What would she say to him when they were alone (for Mr Mason was sure to leave them alone)? She wanted to see him and speak to him so much, had missed him awfully in the two weeks he had been home. But now, there would be no reason to put off talking about the future.

The cart stopped, and Daisy realised she was there. She took a deep breath and stepped down. She was straightening her skirt, trying to calm her nerves, when William rushed towards her and pulled her into his arms. The basket got in the way, but he didn't seem to mind, and Daisy suddenly felt calm and safe. Without thinking, she put the basket down and allowed William to pull her closer. She found herself putting her arms around him, wanting, needing him close to her.

"I've missed you, Daisy," he breathed.

She looked up at his smiling face and felt her own mouth turning up into a smile, lit by a warmth that was growing inside her.

"I've missed you too," she said. It was true, she told herself: she had missed him. But as she thought about it, her smile faded a little. What was she doing, letting him hold her like this, when she knew he was doing it because of her lies?

She bent down to pick up her basket, trying to hide the blush colouring her cheeks.

"Come inside," William said eagerly. Daisy followed him into the house.

She did not have to talk to William alone to begin with. They had tea with Mr Mason and talked of the farm, the family back at the house and the end of the war. But soon, Mr Mason said he would leave them alone, giving them a wink and a cheerful smile before going out.

For a few seconds, they sat in silence. Then they both spoke at the same time.

"I've been thinking about…" William began, and Daisy said, "I need to tell you something."

They both stopped and William laughed. "You first."

Daisy gulped. Now was her opportunity, her chance to tell him the truth. It was too late, they were married, but she couldn't go on living a lie.

"William. I hope you know I'm… very fond of you," she began.

"I do know it, Daisy. And I love you too, very much," he replied, taking her hand tenderly. Daisy looked down at their hands and resisted squeezing William's. This was hard enough as it was.

"Well, that's it. I don't… Oh William, I like you ever so much, you're the best friend I ever had, but… I led you on. When you asked me to be your girl, William, I said I would because I wanted to make you happy. And I do want to make you happy, I just…"

"You don't love me," William finished for her, staring with blank eyes at the fire. His voice was resigned rather than shocked or angry. When Daisy had begun to talk, he realised he had known for a while. The way she had avoided any serious conversations with him, the way she had tried to put him off marrying her, it all made sense now. His Daisy, his beautiful, sweet, wonderful wife did not love him.

He looked up, and saw that there were silent tears running down her cheeks, and suddenly, her revelation seemed to matter less. All that mattered right now was to stop her being upset. He wasn't certain that it was what she wanted, but he tentatively put her arm around her, and after stiffening for a moment, she relaxed and leaned on his shoulder. He held her and whispered comforting things in her ear, saying everything would be alright, although part of him was silently screaming that it wouldn't be.

"Why… why did you marry me, if you… don't love me?" he asked quietly when Daisy had calmed down a little.

"Because we all thought… you were so ill, we thought you wouldn't… Oh William, I thought you were going to die, and I wanted your last hours and days to be as happy as possible. But I know it was wrong, I know it was terribly wrong, and I'm so sorry." Daisy spoke softly, but she was no longer crying. It was, in a way, a relief to free herself from the lie she had been living for so long.

William felt almost as if he might cry now. It touched him more than he could say that Daisy had done something she believed to be wrong just to make him happy, and it made him love her almost more than before, if that was possible. He wanted nothing more than to kiss her. But he had to be sensible and practical now. He had to find a way to deal with this situation.

"Oh Daisy," he said. "You did that for me?"

"Yes. I love you very much as a friend."

"Just not as a husband." William sighed. "What are we going to do now then? Do you want to divorce me? I can make it so it's all my fault, if that is what you want." His heart was breaking as he spoke, but they had to decide what to do.

Daisy was shocked at his response. She had expected anger, and here William was accepting what she had said, sadly, but without blaming her or shouting. But then she supposed that this was just like William; to be kind and calm and put others before himself.

"No. Oh, I don't know what I want. I want you to be happy," she said despairingly.

"Could you… learn to love me?" William asked, without much hope.

"I don't know. I don't remember ever loving anyone before, not like you mean. Or being loved like that either."

"You are loved by me," William assured her, and he pulled her close to him again.

Daisy felt so loved and protected in his arms, she began to look at the future with some hope. Perhaps, now she had been honest and William still loved her, there was hope that she might learn, in time, to love him in return. She certainly felt more for him than she had ever felt for anyone else in her life.

"I think maybe I could come to love you," she said slowly.

Hope flickered in William's chest.

"I will never force you to do anything you don't want to. We don't have to… sleep together, if you don't want to. But I will love you until the day I die, Daisy."

* * *

As she lay in bed that night, Daisy found herself wondering what it would be like to have William in bed next to her. The thought made her feel hot and made her heart beat a little faster, which frightened her a little. To her surprise, it was not an unpleasant thought. She knew there were other things a man and wife did together in bed, apart from sleeping, but didn't really know what these were, and thought it better not to dwell on them. Imagining William's arm around her as she drifted off to sleep, his voice comforting her if she had a nightmare, his face being the first thing she saw each morning, made her happier than she would have thought possible. Now William knew the truth, nothing seemed as bad as it had done before.

 _ **The second part of this chapter wasn't originally part of my plan for this story, but a review made me rethink William and Daisy's importance in the story. I hope it's not too random and rushed.**_


	4. Chapter 4

_**There is some dialogue from the Series 2 Christmas Special, and there will probably be more dialogue from the TV show in future chapters, just because I think Julian Fellowes writes better than me.**_

Reggie Swire's illness was more serious than Lavinia had originally thought, and she stayed in London for Christmas, although she did telephone several times to apologise and to speak to Matthew, whom she claimed to be missing terribly in their few weeks apart. Sir Richard Carlisle had to work.

These absences meant that both Mary and Matthew could relax more than they had been able to do for weeks.

On Christmas day, Mrs Patmore, Daisy and their assistants managed to produce a magnificent feast for the officers as well as the traditional extravagant dinner for the family, despite the rationing, which looked likely to continue for some time.

The gifts were small and simple; everyone had had other things to think about recently. However, Mary had put a lot of thought into Anna's present, as always. She knew that Anna loved reading, but owned very few books, so she had bought her several of her favourite books, promising to add to Anna's tiny library every birthday and Christmas.

"Thank you so much, mi' lady," Anna said quietly as Mary handed her the gift.

"Thank you Anna. You have been a great friend to me, always there when I needed you. You deserve more reward than this. I hope you enjoy them. And of course you must lend them to Bates," Mary said with a twinkle in her eye that made Anna's cheeks turn slightly pink.

Mary looked around for Matthew when Anna walked away clutching her stack of books. Her eyes found him sitting in his chair next to the Christmas tree, scowling. She knew any event that meant everyone else was standing made it impossible for him to forget his situation. She strongly suspected that in a few minutes he would claim tiredness and go to his room to sulk. She couldn't let him do that, not at Christmas. She caught his eye and gestured towards the Dowager Countess, who was looking disapprovingly at Mary's gift to Anna; it was more traditional to give the servants cloth for clothes than books. Matthew saw, as she knew he would, the funniness of Violet's expression of extreme disapproval, and when he looked back at Mary and caught her eye, it was all they could do to prevent themselves from laughing out loud. Mary felt a thrill of immense satisfaction at making him smile.

Robert may have been busy overseeing the rest of the exchange of gifts, but this exchange between his daughter and his heir did not go unnoticed. He smiled to himself as he saw them, for a few moments at least, behaving like they used to before it had all gone wrong between them. That moment alone made Christmas the cheerful day he had hoped, but doubted, it would be.

Even the loud party the officers were having in the hall didn't affect Robert's good mood, although it would normally have infuriated him. He was in a mood to be tolerant, and wanted everyone to be as contented as he was.

He was cheered further when despite meaningful looks from Cora, Mary and Matthew sat next to each other at dinner, keeping up a steady flow of quiet conversation, which must have been rather amusing, as they both had to smother their laughter frequently. They were in their own little world, and they seemed happy there. It was easy to banish from his mind the knowledge that they were both engaged to somebody else when those two 'somebody else's were elsewhere.

"Really Mary, I don't see why you felt the need to give Anna so many books. Surely she would have been happier with some nice material for a new dress. It would certainly have been more appropriate. Your Father generously allows the servants to borrow books from the library. Why on earth does you maid need to actually own any of her own?" Violet had apparently not forgotten her disapproval of Mary's gift to Anna. Both Mary and Matthew were almost crying with laughter by the time Violet had finished speaking. Everyone else looked at them in bewilderment, having missed the exchange earlier in the day.

Mary took a few moments to compose herself before replying.

"Would you have been happier with 'some nice material for a new dress'?" she asked innocently, before dissolving into laughter again.

Matthew took over the argument.

"Do you own many books?" he asked.

Violet frowned, unsure where the conversation was going, not realising, like Mary and Isobel did, that Matthew was about to use his brilliant legal brain to make an impossibly good argument.

"Of course I own books. There is an entire room in my home devoted to them: The Library. What does that have to do with Mary's maid?" Violet replied

"Why do you own those books rather than simply borrowing from a public library?" Matthew asked, really getting into the argument now.

"A… a _public_ library? Have you gone mad? I own my own books because many of them have been in my family or my late husband's for many years. They are valuable to me. I own books so I may read and reread them whenever I wish. I own books so I, the Dowager Countess of Grantham, do not have to visit public libraries. Yet again I fail to see the relevance of this to the case we are discussing. The reasons I have for owning books have nothing whatsoever to do with a housemaid's reasons for owning a few novels." Violet looked pleased with herself as she finished, thinking she had won. Matthew had not finished with her yet, however.

"And what about Anna's children, and their children, if she has any in the future? Will not Anna's books be valuable to them, as yours are to you? And is it impossible that Anna may wish to read and reread her books whenever she wishes? I personally believe that Dowager Countesses and young women who work as housemaids are not so different that the same arguments for the ownership of books cannot be applied to both."

Violet was about to answer, to put this middle class lawyer with his ridiculous ideas in his place. But unusually for her, she could not think of an adequate reply, and had to content herself with a disdainful sniff and a disapproving look.

Matthew, looking healthier and happier in the flush of victory than he had since his return from France, smiled at Mary and took large sip of wine. Mary's heart swelled with happiness as she smiled back. Yes, this was her Matthew, the old Matthew, funny and witty and clever. She had hardly caught a glimpse of him since… she couldn't remember when. He had been so terribly miserable since he had been injured, she had feared that the old Matthew was gone forever. But now, here he was, smiling and looking at her with those beautiful blue eyes. She could almost physically feel his gaze, and it made her feel warm and safe, and at the same time, wildly and breathlessly excited. Oh, how was it that this man could do this to her, when he could never be hers?

The other members of the family sat speechless, finding it hard to believe that the Dowager Countess had not won an argument. Even her famous disapproving looks had little power against Matthew's logic. Isobel smiled, immensely proud of her son, and glad to see him back to his old self, even for a short time. She had been worrying about him. He had been so depressed and unhappy. She was not naïve enough to think that everything would be alright from now on, but she was so glad to see him doing what he was good at and being proud afterwards.

Sybil, deciding that she wanted to be part of a debate, began to talk about Ireland, and the troubles there. Of course, she was thinking of Tom, but none of the family knew this, and assumed that it was simply Sybil's next great interest. It was a good time to bring up such a topic, since the rest of the family were in the mood for a debate, and were cheerful and unlikely to get angry because it was Christmas.

Mary might have been reminded of what she had suspected about Sybil and Tom, but she was already deeply immersed in a private conversation with Matthew again, and nothing except him could interest her in the least.

* * *

After dinner they played the traditional game of 'The Game'.

"You're reading," said Edith, as Mary mimed reading a book.

"For heaven's sake, yes, I'm reading because it's a book title," Mary said exasperatedly.

"No talking," insisted Robert.

"I know, but honestly," Mary replied before continuing.

Why was it not possible for Mary and Edith to even play a game without arguing, wondered Robert wearily. They'd been like this since they were children, and although the bickering had died down a little recently, he was now beginning to suspect it was because the sisters had been so busy during the war, they hadn't seen each other often enough to fight as much as was usual. Now they were back at it, and it was, as it had always been, beyond his power to prevent them.

Robert brought his mind back to the game. Nothing was going to ruin his cheerful mood tonight.

Mary was now attempting to mime the syllable 'wild' from 'The Tenant of Wildfell Hall'. Robert forgot his worries and laughed with the rest of the family at how ridiculous she looked. He was glad to see her letting go of herself a little; it was a rare enough sight.

Nobody guessed the book until Isobel finally guessed correctly when Mary began to mime 'fell'. Then it was Sybil's turn. Mary came and sat down next to Matthew, both of them still laughing.

"I think everyone found that one so hard because they couldn't envisage the elegant, perfectly poised Lady Mary 'wild'!" Matthew said playfully.

"Oh, I don't know. Perhaps I'm just wild when nobody is about."

"I shall have to follow you secretly, night and day, in order to see this mysterious and secret 'wildness' then."

Mary smiled. "Concentrate on the game Matthew. Everyone takes it very seriously you know. And I'm not sure Mama and Papa would approve of your following me night and day."

They stayed up, playing the game, talking and drinking, until almost midnight, when both Violet and Isobel declared that they would return home. Everyone went to bed happy and full of good food, the War and its consequences for once far from their minds.

* * *

Nobody noticed Sybil slip out of the house to the garage, where she had promised to meet Tom if she could.

He was leaning on the bonnet of the car, holding a small glass of something that looked like whisky. He smiled when she walked in.

"You've escaped then. I was beginning to think you wouldn't. They're wondering why I won't join them in the servants' hall for the party."

"I'm sorry, everyone was in the same room and having such a good time. I couldn't leave, and I didn't want to either. Christmas is a time that should be spent with family."

"And will I be family one day?" Tom said boldly, "Have you made your decision yet?"

"Don't push me, Tom! I know I said I'd give my answer when the war was over, but this isn't a decision I can take lightly. I'm going to have to give up my family, my friends, my whole world, everything I've ever known. Please try to understand," Sybil pleaded.

"You won't be giving up your family. They will be giving you up. I have no objection to you staying in touch with them, with them coming to the wedding, coming to visit. It's their decision if they won't. And I might not like their sort in general, but your family are all good people as far as I can see. Will they really cut you off because you married the man you love?"

"Don't talk about 'the wedding' as if it is something that is certain. I told you, I just can't make the decision now. Please, don't let's talk about it now. It's Christmas, we should be talking about cheerful things." Sybil nodded to the glass in Tom's hand, "Do you have any more… whiskey?"

Tom laughed incredulously, then realised she was serious.

"Yes, but there's only one glass. Is mi' lady content to share with her chauffeur?"

Sybil snorted.

"Of course I am. It was only a minute ago you were talking of our wedding. Don't be ridiculous."

Tom poured more of the liquor into his glass and offered it to Sybil.

"Don't they give the Ladies spirits then? I had an idea you would all get a bit drunk on Christmas."

"Papa and Matthew had drinks after dinner, but we were all in the drawing room. Nobody's drunk, quite. Papa can hold a lot of alcohol without seeming visibly drunk, and he expects every other man to be able to do the same. I think Matthew must have mastered the art of keeping his glass half full when he's had enough, so Papa doesn't fill it up again. Mathew didn't look too bad."

Tom laughed, and glanced at Sybil's now empty glass.

"More?" he asked, smirking. "Like father, like daughter?"

Sybil held out the glass to Tom.

"No thank you. I'm not used to it. Besides, it's yours."

"What is mine will soon be yours too."

Sybil didn't want to ruin the moment by arguing.

"What happened to the cheerful Christmas conversation then? Tell me about your home and your family, Tom. Tell me about Ireland. You know so much about my life and my family. I know nothing of yours."

Tom was overjoyed to find her taking an interest, and they spent a happy hour talking about Ireland and the Bransons.

Sybil finally slipped back into the house when she started yawning and Tom insisted she go to bed.

 ** _I'll try to post the next chapter early, since it's nearly finished. I hope you're all enjoying the story._**


	5. Chapter 5

It was the start of a new year, the first year of peace. The officers had all left. On dull January morning, the last of the hospital beds were taken away in a lorry and Downton Abbey became a private house again.

Edith stood in the doorway of the great house as the lorry drove away. It was like she was watching a part of her life leaving, and she felt lost and unsure what to do next.

She glanced around as she heard Mrs Hughes come up behind her.

"That's the last of the equipment gone," she said.

"The maids have put the drawing room back to normal," Mrs Hughes informed her.

In the newly restored drawing room, Robert and Cora were talking.

Robert was irritated at Cora for even suggesting he get rid of Bates just because of the sad situation with his wife. He was about to leave when Cora spoke again.

"They've taken the rest of the beds," she said as she sat down.

"So that's the finish of it," he replied.

"Not quite. We still have Matthew. And I wanted to ask you. Isn't it time he went home?" Cora spoke cautiously, guessing what her husband's reaction would be. She guessed correctly.

"I see. You want to throw him out."

"Robert. I want him to learn to be as independent as he can, and I want Mary to get on with her life. What's wrong with that?" she said earnestly.

"Is there something you're not telling me?" Robert asked suddenly.

"What do you mean," Cora said calmly, although her heart had started beating faster.

"About Mary and Matthew, some element you haven't told me?" Robert continued.

"Of course not. You're being silly," Cora said, attempting to sound surprised and offended. She couldn't let Robert find out now. They had kept it from him successfully for so long.

"If thinking that trying to protect Mary with a ring of steel is silly, then yes, I am very silly." With that he left the room, leaving Cora angry and worried. It was so hard having this secret between her and Robert, but that was how it had to be. And she knew she was right about Matthew. He needed to go home. Downton would be his one day, but hopefully that day was far in the future. And he and Mary were spending far too much time together. Mary needed to be settled, then they could all stop worrying about what had happened with the Turkish Gentleman.

Mary was walking in the grounds, her mind also on Mr Pamuk. Richard was arriving later that day. The dread she felt at this did not bode well for her marriage. She longed to unburden her mind to someone, for someone to look at the situation objectively and to tell her what to do, how to resign herself with dignity to a life with a man she did not love and would never love. But there was nobody she could tell. She couldn't speak to Mama about it; the subject had become unmentionable between them. She had come so close to telling Matthew. But she couldn't. She couldn't bear to think what his opinion of her would be if he knew. She couldn't tell Sybil. Sybil would be sympathetic, but Sybil was just so good and so young. Mary simply couldn't tell her. She went through all her family, but there was nobody.

Then she thought of Anna. Anna already knew, knew everything. It was a strange idea, to seek out a servant simply to talk with them. But Anna wasn't just a servant. She was a friend. Mary made her decision, and walked purposefully back towards the house.

* * *

"Anna, Lady Mary wishes you to attend her in her room," Carson said as he walked into the servants' hall where Anna was mending the hem of one of Lady Edith's evening dresses.

Anna was curious. Lady Mary never asked for her during the day; she had other duties to attend to, being head housemaid as well as looking after Lady Mary and her sisters. However, she was called for, therefore she must go.

She found Lady Mary sitting on her bed, wringing her hands and looking agitated. She looked up at Anna as she entered the room.

"What was it you wanted, mi' lady?" Anna asked, trying not to seem too curious.

"I'm sorry for the summons, Anna. I didn't know where you would be, so I rang and asked Carson. I don't need you as my maid now Anna, I need you as my friend."

Anna, still puzzled at what Mary wanted from her, glowed internally with pride as Lady Mary called her a friend. Miss O'Brien may claim that they could not be friends with their employers, but Lady Mary was not Lady Grantham, and Anna was not O'Brien.

"I need to talk to somebody. There's nobody else," said Mary, gesturing for Anna to sit on the bed next to her. Anna sat.

"I've been thinking what to say for hours, but somehow I still don't know where to start. This isn't something I normally do." Mary spoke nervously, her manner so different from usual, that Anna began to suspect what this was about. There was only one thing that made Lady Mary this nervous.

"Is it about… about the Turkish Gen… about Mr Pamuk, mi' lady?" She asked tentatively.

"Oh Anna!" Mary cried, glad Anna had started the conversation for her, "Nothing in my life has gone right since that night. What did I do to make him think…?" Mary couldn't speak any more, and buried her face in her hands. Anna let her compose herself, looking away. Mary took a deep breath and continued.

"You know why I have to marry Sir Richard. You know what men like him are like, you know what he is like. I have given him the power to destroy me, destroy my family. He will not hesitate to use it if I give him half an excuse. I have to marry him. But I don't know how I can make myself do it. You have said to me before that there was only one man you would ever love, and that was Bates. I almost wish it weren't, but I am the same; there is only one man I will ever truly love, could ever be happy with…"

"And that is Mr Crawley," Anna finished for her.

"Yes," Mary said simply.

"But he is engaged to Miss Swire, so surely even if you didn't have to marry Sir Richard then…" Anna trailed off.

"Oh, I know the whole situation is hopeless now. But he wouldn't be engaged to her if I had been able to marry him before the War. I just couldn't bear for him to know… what I had done. And I couldn't have married him without telling him, it would be as if I'd caught him with a lie. If I hadn't… if I had had no secrets, we would be married now, maybe we'd have a child. And now…" Mary had been holding back a sob, but when she thought about what might have been, and what was now, she could hold it back no longer. She clapped her hand over her mouth, and Anna put her arm around Mary's shoulders as Mary shook with violent sobs. She had held it all in so long, it was almost a relief to allow herself to think about it and grieve for the life she might have had with Matthew.

"Yes, it all started with Kemal Pamuk," Mary said weakly when she had controlled herself sufficiently.

Anna looked her in the eye, her face grave and serious.

"You have to tell him, mi' lady. Mr Crawley. You have to tell him how you feel, even if you can't tell him about… the other thing. You can't both marry somebody you don't love without even talking to each other properly. And before you tell me he loves Miss Swire, I know it's not my place to say so, but it's clear to everybody that he still loves you. The way he looks at you, I don't know how anyone could miss it. And for us that know you, mi' lady, it's the same for you. You're better at keeping your thoughts and feelings to yourself, but it's plain to see in your eyes that you love him. You have to tell him."

Mary remembered the conversation she had had with Carson during the War. He'd given her the same advice, although of course he hadn't know about Kemal.

"How?" asked Mary, "How do I tell him? How can I explain without telling him the reason I hesitated? He still thinks it's because of the baby, of the money and the title. He will go on thinking that unless I tell him the truth."

"Then tell him the truth," Anna urged her.

"I can't. I can't bear for him to know what I've done, what I am. He would despise me."

"I'm not sure he would. What happened to you was not all your fault, even if you can't see it that way. Mr Crawley is a clever man. He will see that. I know you blame yourself, but you had no choice once he was in your room. And if I may say so," Anna continued more carefully, "That wasn't the first time you had flirted with a gentleman. How were you to know that this one would behave differently from all the others?"

Mary saw the truth in Anna's words, but could not accept it. She knew it was her fault. She had given Kemal the wrong idea of who she was, and she had done it out of vanity and thoughtlessness. But at the same time, she saw that she couldn't let herself marry Richard and let Matthew marry Lavinia without speaking truthfully and honestly with him. She would speak to Matthew if the opportunity came. It would take courage, but she saw that she had to do it.

"Thank you Anna. Thank you for being so… so sensible and honest. And Anna?" she said more cheerfully.

"Yes mi' lady?"

"I think that after hearing all that, knowing all my secrets, more than anyone else in the world, we are friends enough that you must call me Mary. Only when we are alone of course, and only if you feel comfortable with it, but…" Mary looked up hopefully at Anna.

Anna felt a warm glow inside her.

"Of course, mi' lady," Anna blushed, "I mean of course I'm comfortable with it if it is what you wish… _Mary."_ She laughed. Mary laughed too. Anna stood.

"I'm sorry, mi' … Mary," she laughed again, "I have to be getting back to work. Mrs Hughes will be wondering where I am. I'm glad if I've helped you. I hate seeing you unhappy. And Mr Matthew too. We're all very fond of him downstairs. And very sorry about… well, you know."

"That reminds me," Mary said, just as Anna was leaving the room, "How is William? I hope he knows how grateful we all are to him for what he did."

"He's much better. He's staying at home with his father still, but he'll be back in a couple of weeks. Dr Clarkson is confident he'll make a full recovery now. Anyway, I must go."

Anna left the room and hurried downstairs, smiling to herself.

* * *

Matthew grunted with pain as his mother helped him onto his bed. She had insisted he rest before dinner, completely deaf to his insisting that he was fine. He was in a foul mood after another fight with Lavinia. She was being impossible. She seemed to think that simply by being persistent, she could change his mind. She was wrong, but however many times he told her so, she still couldn't see it. It infuriated him, and their arguments always upset her. He couldn't see how to put an end to the situation.

"You've been fighting with poor Lavinia again, haven't you?" Isobel's words cut across Matthew's thoughts. "She really does love you Matthew. And hasn't she made it abundantly clear that she doesn't care about children?"

"Not now, maybe. But what about the future, Mother? I am not the man she fell in love with anymore," Matthew said, frustrated.

Isobel sighed and sat down on the bed. "What makes you think you can predict the future any better than Lavinia? You're still the same person Matthew." She paused for a few seconds. "Why are you really delaying? Is it Mary?"

Matthew had never really thought about it from that angle, but his mother's idea that his reluctance to marry had something to do with Mary seemed uncomfortably insightful.

"Of course it's not Mary, what do you mean? She's engaged for goodness' sake." He was angry at her for coming closer to the truth than he could even admit to himself.

"Engaged, but isn't she reluctant to set a date? Haven't you heard the conversations between her and Sir Richard; she won't give him an answer if he asks her to. Does that seem like the behaviour of a woman who is happily engaged?"

Matthew was on the verge of disclosing his suspicions about Carlisle having some sort of hold over Mary, but at the last moment decided not to. He needed to know more before he mentioned his suspicions to anyone else.

"She still loves you, Matthew. No, don't interrupt. I thought when she hesitated to say yes all those years ago that she was only thinking of marrying you for the money and the title. But I know now I misjudged her. I don't pretend to know why she didn't accept straight away. But I am sure now that she loves you." Isobel looked her son in the eye as she spoke, compelling him to listen to every word.

"How are you so sure?" Matthew tried to sound sceptical, but he was desperate to hear what his mother had seen that he had not.

"Did you ever imagine Lady Mary Crawley nursing? In all the years of war, did you once see her do anything meaningful to help? Oh, I don't blame her; she wasn't brought up to work. Sybil is an exception, and Edith wanted to feel needed and valued. But even so, for four years she had almost nothing to do with wounded soldiers, even when there were so many living in her home.

"Then you came home wounded. And who do you think helped clean you up and dress your wounds when you were first brought in unconscious? Who sat by your bed for hours, days on end, when you were too groggy and then too miserable to have a conversation with? Who told you about your back? I wasn't there, but Sybil has told me. It was Mary.

"When I arrived back from France, I stood in the doorway and looked for you. And there she was, holding you as you were sick. She was rubbing your back tenderly, exactly like I would have done in her place. I don't think I've been more surprised and more touched by anything in my life. I can't think of anything that would transform a woman so dramatically other than love."

Matthew was speechless. For all those years he had treasured his happy memories of Mary, and broken his heart over the thought that she loved money and position more than she loved him. But what if his mother was right and he was wrong? What if she did love him, and there really was some other reason, probably tied up with Carlisle, that she hadn't been able to marry him? Oh, if only he hadn't assumed the worst, and ruined their one chance of happiness. Because it was too late now. He couldn't be anyone's husband now, and he doubted Mary would have him now anyway.

'On any terms' though. He remembered her beautiful face looking down at him as he lay on the hospital bed, groggy with morphine and feeling awful. He had thought she had been talking about Lavinia, but those words kept coming back to him, and he had a quiet hope and suspicion that perhaps she had been talking about herself. Did she still love him now, pathetic cripple that he was? But then he couldn't condemn Mary to the life of a nursemaid any more than he could Lavinia. But he wanted her, needed her so much.

"What should I do, Mother? What can I do?"

"You have to talk to her, Matthew. Find out why she hesitated. I'm sure she had a reason. You can't both marry people you don't love without even talking frankly with her. All four of you would be miserable. And don't give me that rubbish about not being a fit husband for any woman, I've heard it enough times as it is.

"You have two beautiful, clever women who love you. You will end up marrying one of them eventually, you know. Why do you think that you know what they want and care about any better than they do? You are behaving like the worst of your sex, Matthew, assuming you know what women want better than they do. Both Mary and Lavinia are capable of making their own choices."

And with that, Isobel left, before her son had a chance to reply.

After dinner that evening the family were in the drawing room.

"Have you seen the boys' haircuts the women are wearing in Paris?" asked Mary, knowing most of the people present would detest them, but wanting for some reason to upset people.

"I hope you won't try that," said Matthew.

"I might," said Mary, half teasing, but half serious.

"I'm not sure how feminine it is," Lavinia put in worriedly.

"I'm not sure how feminine I am." Mary was irritated at Lavinia's interference. Who cared what she thought?

"Very, I'm glad to say," Sir Richard said, turning to look at Mary. She smiled, but he irritated her beyond belief. He always won theses little verbal battles, which nobody recognised but themselves, and it maddened her. How on earth was she to live with this man for the rest of her life?

Matthew was equally irritated with Lavinia. He didn't want Mary to cut off her wonderful chocolate-brown hair. But equally, he wanted Mary to do exactly as she liked, and resented Lavinia's intrusion into the conversation, even though she agreed with him. His mother's comment about him behaving like the worst of his sex had stung, and was still on his mind. He was suddenly aware of how intelligent Mary really was and how much she knew her own mind. Why, then, had she hesitated? And why was she marrying a man who would never appreciate her or allow her the freedom she deserved? He was desperate to find out, and determined to do so at the first opportunity.


	6. Chapter 6

_**I'm a bit nervous about this chapter, because it's the first one that's really AU, rather than missing scenes like the previous chapters have been.**_

 _ **Thank you to everyone who has written reviews; they really do mean a lot to me, and encourage me to carry on writing. I hope you all continue to enjoy the story!**_

Mary sat down on her bed, close to tears. She'd just argued with Anna, after finding out that Anna had told Carson and Mrs Hughes about Richard's proposal before informing her. Argued with Anna when Anna was the only real friend she had, the only person she could confide in. And now she had lost Carson as well. His would have been the only friendly and familiar face in her unfriendly and unfamiliar new home when she married Richard. Now she would have face it all alone. She knew she had to, but it seemed like too much without anyone to help her. Even Anna would not come; she couldn't leave Bates.

And Mary felt even worse, as she knew she had taken her frustration out on Anna and Carson, when it was Richard who was to blame. How would she survive married to a man who wanted somebody to spy on her? She had tried not to let Carson and Anna see how much it had upset her, but it disturbed her greatly.

* * *

Lavinia pushed Matthew's chair into the room. It was easier now he was strong enough to help.

"Nobody's down yet," observed Matthew when he saw the room was empty.

"They won't be long," said Lavinia. Then, noticing a tray had been left on a table said "Oh look. They've cleared the tea but forgotten to take that tray."

"Ring the bell," Matthew told her.

"I'll do it; they'll be busy getting dinner ready," Lavinia insisted.

"It's too heavy for you," Matthew warned her, but she took no notice.

He was proved right when she tripped over a footstool.

Matthew's cry of 'look out' came too late, and Lavinia fell, the tray crashing to the floor and the cups and saucers shattering. Matthew reached out to catch her, but couldn't quite reach without risking falling out of his chair. She hit her head on the mantelpiece as she fell. Matthew felt useless, unable to help her.

Thankfully, she hadn't lost consciousness despite the blow to the head. She moaned and tried to stand, just as Sybil ran into the room.

"I was coming down the stairs and heard a crash…" she said. She took in the tray and the broken china, Matthew's alarmed expression and Lavinia putting her hand gingerly to her head as she got unsteadily to her feet. She accurately guessed what had happened, and rushed over to help Lavinia.

"Are you alright? Did you hit your head hard?" she asked.

"I'm such a fool!" cried Lavinia, "I think my head's not too bad, but I've broken all that lovely china, and I think I've sprained my ankle. I don't seem to be able to put any weight on it." She winced as she tried.

"It doesn't matter about the china, although I must admit it wasn't the most sensible thing in the world to try and lift such a heavy tray. You only had to ring for the servants," Sybil said reassuringly.

"That's what Matthew said. I should have listened," Lavinia said miserably.

"It doesn't matter. You must let me look at your ankle in a minute. But sit down now," Sybil instructed her. Lavinia sank down into an armchair, putting her hand to her head again.

Sybil looked at her with concern.

"It's your head I'm worried about," she said, "Did you lose consciousness, even for a second?"

"I… I'm not sure. Yes, maybe for a moment. And I'm still seeing stars. I never believed that was true. I thought it only happened in books."

"That settles it. You need to lie down. You won't make it up the stairs. Here, I'll help you to the sofa."

Lavinia obeyed.

"What's going on?" Mary had entered the room and was standing in the doorway assessing the situation. "Lavinia, are you alright?" she said as she rushed over to the sofa.

"Oh, it's nothing. It's silly really, I tried to pick up a tray and tripped, and somehow managed to do something to my ankle and hit my head. There's no need to fuss, I'm sure I'll be quite alright in a minute." Lavinia replied.

Matthew was watching Sybil look at Lavinia's head, wringing his hands and looking as if he was unsure what to do. Sybil turned to him and Mary.

"You two go and tell everyone to wait for dinner in the library, Lavinia needs to rest and I need to check she's not badly hurt. It would not be ideal to do that in front of an audience."

Matthew looked as if he were about to argue, but Mary knew better than to attempt to argue with Sybil when she was in the role of Nurse Crawley. She took Matthew's chair and pushed him out of the room.

"Trust me, there's no point arguing with Nurse Crawley. I think she's been missing bossing people about since the war ended," she murmured in his ear, and they both laughed.

It was at this moment that Sir Richard Carlisle came down the stairs, and saw them laughing together. It infuriated him, seeing that his fiancée clearly preferred the company of her cousin to his.

"Are we the only ones down?" he asked as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

Mary explained what had happened as Matthew and Carlisle looked at each other with unconcealed dislike. Halfway through her explanation, the rest of the family appeared, and she had to begin again. Just as she finished, Carson appeared, looking confused to find the family standing about in the hall. But he soon concealed his confusion and announced that dinner was served. Lady Grantham explained about Lavinia and Sybil, and Carson gave a nod that meant that he understood and would deal with it.

Dinner was a tense affair, as everyone was worrying about Lavinia, and Sir Richard was still angry with Mary. Thanks to Cora's careful plotting, Mary was sitting next to him again. He was silent, until he thought Mary was about to start a conversation with someone else. Then, he would suddenly have something urgent to say to her, and would claim her attention before she could give it to anyone else. When the ladies were getting up to leave, he gripped her arm.

"It's time we set a date Mary. You've delayed long enough. I can have our new home ready for as soon as you wish to marry. The war is over. What other excuses can you make?"

"But what's the hurry?" Mary asked, struggling to keep the panic out of her voice. She knew she had to marry Richard, but she was not prepared to be pushed like this, and she did not wish her family to see quite how much she was under his control.

"Hurry? Glaciers are fast compared to you on this Mary! And I warn you: even my patience has its limits."

Mary pulled her arm free angrily and followed Edith into the drawing room. Her heart was pounding with a combination of fear and anger. They found Sybil in there alone, eating her way through a large plate of sandwiches.

"Lavinia's in bed in one of the downstairs bedrooms. I thought I should leave her in peace. I don't think her ankle is sprained, just twisted a bit. And her head doesn't look too bad, although I think she should see Dr Clarkson tomorrow if she's not completely fine."

Cora, Edith and Sybil kept up a conversation about Isobel's latest project: the refugee charity she was involved with. If anyone had seen the scene with Richard, they did not mention it, for which Mary was grateful.

Mary largely ignored the conversation, saying as little as was politely possible. She was going to have to set a date for her wedding to a man who sent her servants to spy on her. Every day she seemed to like Richard less, to see more of his true character. She had always prided herself on her good sense and her courage, but both seemed to be failing her now. She knew that she had no choice but to marry Richard, but she was frightened, and could hardly bear to contemplate her future.

The entrance of the men cut across her unpleasant imaginings. She looked unconsciously for Matthew, but he wasn't there. Her heart sank; even seeing him calmed her, and if they had been able to talk together, perhaps she would have been able to forget her worries, even for a few short minutes. Richard was trying to catch her eye but she resolutely looked away. She wanted him to know she was angry with him, that he couldn't threaten her like he had. But the terrible truth was that he could. He could treat her however he wished, and still she would be compelled to marry him if she didn't want to ruin herself and make Downton Abbey a house of scandal.

"Where's Matthew?" she asked her father.

"He said something about checking Lavinia was alright," Robert replied distractedly.

Mary rose, deciding to go and find him. She couldn't bear to be in the same room as Richard. His very presence set her on edge.

"Mary…" Cora began to protest when Mary got up to leave, guessing where her daughter was going, but was silenced by a look from Robert. Robert had started a serious conversation with Sir Richard about newspapers to prevent him from following Mary.

Mary left the room and went to the library. She could be sure of peace there. She considered going to find Matthew, but decided against it; she couldn't bear to see him with Lavinia. She breathed a sigh of relief when she closed the door of the library behind her, and leaned back on it, shutting out the world on the other side of it. She closed her eyes, willing herself not to cry, even though she was alone. She had no control over her life or her future, so she must at least retain control of herself: her self-discipline and control were the only things left to her.

She took a shuddering breath, opened her eyes, and started when she realised that she was not alone. Matthew was sitting in his chair next to one of the sofas near the fire, an open book in his hands, although he wasn't looking at it; he was watching her. She opened her mouth in surprise and blushed at having been seen in such a state.

"I assume you're here to escape Sir Richard too," he said darkly. Mary's face turned an even brighter shade of scarlet. She didn't want anyone else knowing exactly how bad things were between her and Richard. Even Matthew. Especially Matthew.

"Mary?" Matthew asked gently, "Can I help?"

"I suppose I shouldn't insult you by asking what you mean. You know me too well," she said as she walked across the room towards him.

"You don't have to marry him, you know. You don't have to marry anyone. You'll always have a home here as long as I'm alive." _Even if that's not very long,_ he added silently.

"Didn't the war teach you never to make promises? And besides, don't you think Lavinia would have something to say about that?" She asked him miserably, sitting down on the sofa next to him.

"What has Lavinia to do with any of this?" He asked, the familiar anger rising inside him again. Why did everyone just assume that he and Lavinia would eventually marry, whatever he said to the contrary?

"She will be your wife, Matthew. I doubt she'd want me around," Mary said bitterly.

"How many times do I have to tell everyone? I am not going to marry anyone. I couldn't do that to any woman." Matthew looked down at his useless legs, then up at Mary. He felt something almost like physical pain as he looked at her pale skin and slightly red eyes. She looked so young and vulnerable. He suddenly had the urge to kiss her, to stroke her hair, to make her feel safe and loved. But he couldn't give in to feelings like that. He couldn't let himself. But she was so lovely, and he loved her so unbearably much.

"And if… if things were different, if I could be a proper husband, it… it might not be to Lavinia." He said, looking at Mary with a burning intensity, willing her to understand what he meant.

Mary's heart seemed to skip a beat. Had she understood right? Could he possibly mean what she desperately wanted him to mean? She thought she did understand, and her heart sang. He loved her. Matthew loved her. Suddenly nothing seemed quite so hopeless and bleak. She took and squeezed the hand he held out to her. _I love you Matthew,_ she thought. _I love you, I love you, I love you!_

Then she thought of Kemal, and her heart sank.

"You're wrong," she said.

"Wrong? About what?" Was he wrong? Was Mother wrong? Did she not love him? Had he assumed too much, said too much?

"I do have to marry him," Mary said sadly.

"Then tell me why, Mary. Tell me why you have to marry him. What hold does he have over you that you have to marry a man you can't even be in the same room with? Don't think I haven't noticed. I heard you arguing after dinner. Tell me Mary!"

"I can't! If I told you the reason then you would despise me, and that I really couldn't bear. I wish it were different, but I do have to marry him Matthew. And if you love Lavinia at all you must marry her."

"But… I'm not sure that I do," Matthew said urgently. He surprised himself by saying what he hadn't even been able to admit to himself until now. He admired Lavinia, thought her a wonderful woman, but love… love he would only ever feel for Mary.

"It's you I…" he was about to say 'love', but was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Matthew? Mary? Are you in there?" It was Lavinia.

Matthew and Mary looked at each other in alarm. How much of their conversation had she heard? Mary recovered herself first.

"Yes we're in here, come in. But what are you doing out of bed?" she said. Lavinia opened the door and came in, looking a little pale, but smiling her sweet smile.

"I felt fine, so I got up and tried to stand, and my ankle was much better. Sybil said it was only twisted. So I came to look for everyone. I thought you'd all be in the drawing room, but I heard voices in here so…" she trailed off.

Matthew had recovered himself too by now, and asked kindly,

"How do you feel?"

"Like a nuisance. I ruined dinner. I'm so silly," she said as she walked over to where Mary and Matthew were, limping a little.

Mary rose, wearing a convincing false smile that would have fooled anyone but Matthew.

"I'd better get back to the drawing room. They'll be wondering where I am."

When Mary had gone, Matthew found he had no idea what to say to Lavinia. He needed to find out what she had heard. He'd said too much. With his fiancée sitting next to him, he could see how wrong he had been to say what he had said. How had he let himself go so far? What was it about Mary that made him lose his common sense and judgement to such an extent that he had nearly told her he loved her? He was promised to Lavinia. If he was able to marry, it would have to be Lavinia. She had stayed with him, even now when he was just a useless lump, not the man she had originally got engaged to. But he would not marry.

He couldn't ask Lavinia what she had heard; to do so would arouse her suspicion, even if she had heard nothing of his conversation with Mary.

"I think… I think I'll go to bed now. It's late," Matthew said, to break the silence. He would face Lavinia properly in the morning, when he'd had time to think. He knew he was being cowardly, but he simply couldn't face that conversation now.

Mary meanwhile, had re-joined the rest of the family, and managed to talk in a falsely cheerful voice, trying not to arouse suspicion, until it was time to retire, studiously avoiding Richard's piercing gaze.

As she was silently undressed by Anna, her mind was whirring. Matthew had so nearly said that he loved her. After all these years, after all that had happened, he loved her. But he didn't know her secret. Would he love her if he did? She doubted it. Who in their right mind would love her, knowing that she, Lady Mary Crawley, had taken a lover, with not even a thought of marriage?

And somehow, she had managed to have a private conversation with Matthew without telling him how she felt about him, as she had been meaning to do for days. She had been bursting to tell him, her mind had been screaming the words. But somehow, the words hadn't seemed to be able to leave her mouth. She wasn't sure when she would get the opportunity again. They had both been alarmed by Lavinia's unexpected appearance. How much had she heard?

Mary forced her mind away from that impossible and uncomfortable question. Anna was quiet and unhappy. Mary felt terrible for her behaviour earlier in the evening.

"I'm sorry, Anna. I was unforgivably unkind earlier. You did the right thing. I'm just… I'm just frightened about living in a new home full of unfamiliar faces. I thought Carson would be there to help me, and that made it more bearable. But you were right to tell him. And I appreciate your concern about not 'adding to my troubles'."

"You weren't unforgivably unkind. I have forgiven you."

They smiled at each other's reflections in the mirror. They didn't speak again, but the silence was not uncomfortable.

* * *

Robert and Cora were sitting in bed together, reading. Cora was reading an American novel and Robert was reading an impenetrable volume on law. He needed to understand something about land law. Murray and Jarvis usually took care of everything like that, but after the war and all the changes it had brought, he wanted to be sure how everything stood on the estate. He had a new admiration for Matthew, who understood these complicated things. Perhaps he should ask him to explain a few things.

"Cora?" Robert asked as he gave up and put down the book, "Why is Mary marrying Carlisle? Did you notice them arguing after dinner? About setting a date for their wedding? And I think Mary disappeared after dinner because she couldn't stand being in the same room as him. Why on earth is she marrying a man she so clearly dislikes?"

"I'm sure Mary has him under control," she replied, trying to sound reassuring.

"Does she? I'm not so sure. I wish I could understand why she goes on with it. Do you think there is some element I might have overlooked?"

Cora didn't know what to say. She fought with herself. She was silent a moment too long.

"Cora?" Robert looked at her, wide-eyed. She sighed. She had to tell him.

"Yes." She paused, unsure how to continue.

"Cora? If there is something and you know what it is, you must tell me. Now. This is Mary's future. I can't help her if I don't understand."

Cora bit her lip, then took a deep breath and began to tell Robert everything, staring down at the bedsheets as she spoke. He remained silent throughout her story, and when she finished, could think of nothing to say.

"Robert?" asked Cora tentatively.

"You should have told me. She should have told me. Before she told Carlisle. Did you not trust me? Did you think I would throw my own daughter out of the house? Am I like that?" It hurt him more than he could say that Mary had told Carlisle before him. He was her father, and she did not feel able to trust him.

"She can't marry him. I care about the scandal a thousand, a million times less than I care about my daughter. I cannot in conscience allow her to marry a man who would threaten her like that," he continued.

"But whom will she marry, Robert? If there is a scandal, no respectable man will have her. There's already gossip in London. She's damaged goods, Robert. She must marry Carlisle."

"Do you think so little of Matthew that you think he wouldn't let her stay here? She doesn't need to marry, Cora. Anything, any life is better than what she will have if she marries Carlisle." Robert was angry now, although he couldn't say exactly who with. Carlisle, and that bastard Pamuk certainly, and Cora… but certainly not Mary. How could she ever have thought that he would be angry with her? He was saddened to see how his wife and daughter saw him, as some sort of unreasonable tyrant, and he wished he had been told years ago. But angry at Mary? No.

"It's not normal for a Lady not to marry, Robert. She can't live out her days here alone. And it would hardly be comfortable with Lavinia."

Robert was silent for a minute, thinking.

"Was that why it went wrong between her and Matthew? Does he know?" he asked.

"No, he doesn't know. But that is why Mary didn't accept his proposal immediately. She felt she had to tell him, and couldn't. She thinks he would despise her if he knew."

Robert thought for a minute.

"I don't think he would. So they both wanted to marry back then, and Mary hesitated not for the money and title, but because of this?"

"Yes," Cora answered sadly.

"But he wouldn't despise her. He isn't like that. Perhaps if he knew why… Perhaps there is still a chance for them. There's Lavinia, but I don't think he loves her. Engagements can be broken. He has to know. They have to sort out this mess with everyone knowing the facts. Matthew must be told…"

Robert was thinking aloud, getting carried away and excited. But his wife cut across him.

"You're forgetting something Robert, in your ambitious plans; Matthew says he will not marry anyone, and I will not allow my daughter to be married to a cripple who can never be a proper husband to her. Do you want grandchildren, Robert? Do you really think Mary would be better off with Matthew as he is now than with Carlisle? Because she's not going to get any other offers, Robert. And the scandal!" Cora spoke sincerely and honestly out of concern for her daughter. Surely Robert would see that they couldn't let Mary marry Matthew.

But he did not see. Her words infuriated him.

"Can you hear the words coming out of your mouth? Can you hear how thoughtless and cruel they sound? Because I can. This is _Matthew_ we're talking about. Matthew is my heir, and a good man. I have no objection whatsoever to him becoming my son in law, if that is what would make him and Mary happy, which I think is the case. He was injured in the War, Cora. He's lucky to be alive. He would make a better husband than Carlisle, even if he can't walk."

"Robert. I just want the best for Mary. I won't let my eldest daughter spend her life as a nurse to her husband. Sir Richard Carlisle can provide her with wealth, comfort, security, position. Children. He is a good match, considering that Mary's reputation is hardly spotless. Love can come later." Cora said, hoping that would be the end of the argument.

"She can hardly stand being in the same room as him, Cora! If you think that that kind of relationship is a good basis for marriage, then I must inform you that you are wrong. Love can come later if there are no strong feelings already. But it is rather a great leap from hatred and fear and blackmail to love. I won't have this conversation with you any longer, Cora. I'm going to sleep in my dressing room." And with that, he left, leaving Cora speechless. She had expected him to be angry and disappointed about Mr Pamuk, but no. Robert had hardly said anything about that. If she had thought it would just re-kindle his hopes for Mary and Matthew, she wouldn't have told him. But it was too late now.


	7. Chapter 7

Matthew was awake before the sun rose. He was happy for a few seconds as he lay warm and comfortable under the soft covers. He had been dreaming, and although the details of it were already fading, it left him with a sweet glow of contentment. Mary had been in the dream, laughing, beautiful, perfect.

Then, as he did every morning, he tried to move, and remembered about his legs. The happiness evaporated, as it did every morning. He could never decide whether he would rather wake up remembering, or carry on like this. Was it worth the pain when he remembered for the few seconds of happiness when he first woke up? It was almost like being told the terrible news again every morning, but those few seconds of forgetfulness were bliss.

This morning though, something else ruined his mood too. He had to talk to Lavinia. He tried to recall the expression on her face when she had walked into the room last night, to look for any clues about what she had heard. But her expression had been unreadable, and was even more so from memory.

He pushed himself up into a sitting position with difficulty and switched on the light beside his bed. He would read until Bates came. It wasn't much, but he was so pleased that he could do that now. There had been so many mornings when he had woken early and had to lie there in the dark until someone came to get him up. That had been when he felt most useless.

He was cheered a little when he thought of how much better he was now, how much stronger. He thought his upper body might be even stronger than it had been before. He still couldn't get out of bed and into his chair alone, or dress, but he could sit and he could get around the ground floor of the house well enough. And more importantly, he was no longer quite so helpless. To Dr Clarkson and Mother's surprise, he had regained continence. Apparently, this meant that his injury was an incomplete one, and for a while, they had hoped for further improvement. It hadn't happened, but even so, it was wonderful to have some control over his body, and it had lessened to some extent the disgust he felt for his body. And it meant there was no longer the danger of infection from the catheter.

The fact that these small improvements were so important to him made him feel depressed again. Why should he be grateful that he could do things he had first learned to do as a tiny child?

He sighed and turned his attention to his book for distraction.

Mary was awake too. She had woken hot and damp with sweat after a nightmare. The details were sketchy, but it had been about Kemal. She remembered the horrible feeling of him, suddenly still and silent on top of her and inside her. She shuddered. That had been the worst night of her life. Why was it she couldn't stop re-living it in her nightmares? They kept the memory of that night fresh in her mind so she could never forget.

She turned her mind to the previous evening, and winced when she recalled what Matthew was saying when Lavinia had come in. She had to talk to Matthew again, had to tell him what she hadn't told him last night.

Then she thought of Richard. He wouldn't let last night go. He would know she had been with Matthew when she had disappeared and he would press her to set a date again. Perhaps she could suggest a date that was months away and he would leave her alone. But that would make it somehow more real.

* * *

After breakfast, Matthew asked Lavinia to take him outside in the garden. He wanted to be alone, with no chance of being overheard when he talked with her.

It felt strange doing this with her instead of Mary. They were silent for a few minutes. Matthew was unsure how to begin. Eventually, though, Lavinia began for him.

"Don't ever let me be a nuisance, Matthew. Don't ever let me be in the way," she said quietly but firmly.

"You could never be in the way. What do you mean?" he asked her. She was quiet for a minute.

"I… I heard you and Mary talking. Last night. I wasn't eavesdropping. You were talking quite loudly." She stopped and took a deep breath. "Matthew?"

"Yes?"

"Do you love me?" she asked. Matthew opened his mouth, but Lavinia spoke before he could say anything. "No, don't answer yet. Think about it. Do you love me, really love me, love me like you love… like you love Mary?"

"Lavinia, I…"

"No, let me finish. Do you want to spend the rest of your life with me? Not out of duty, or honour. Do you want to spend the rest of your life with me out of love? Because I love you, Matthew, but love means that you put somebody else's happiness before yours. I don't think either of us would be happy if we married without love on both sides. I could never be happy if you weren't."

"Lavinia, I have told you a thousand times…"

"Yes, I know, you'll never marry. But whatever you say and however many times you say it, I think you will. The question is whether it will be me or Mary."

"Lavinia! Mary and I … we're not… she's engaged to someone else. You know what happened between us before the war. I'm engaged to you. If I do marry, which I will not, it will be you. You are beautiful and clever and kind and you've stayed with me even now. I admire you greatly."

"You 'admire me greatly'. But do you love me Matthew? Can you say truthfully that you love me? That you love me at least as much as you love Mary, because whatever you say, it's clear to everyone that you love her?"

Matthew was silent. He couldn't lie outright to her. Until last night he could have said that he loved her, but he had realised that he had been deceiving himself. He couldn't bear to see her unhappy, but he couldn't lie to her. And didn't she have a point? Could they really be happy in a marriage with love on one side and duty and honour on the other? There were plenty of marriages like that, but they never seemed terribly happy, and Matthew didn't want to condemn Lavinia to an unhappy marriage.

Besides, he suddenly thought, he had been trying to persuade Lavinia that he was not going to marry her for months. Perhaps this would do what his many arguments with her had failed to do. It would cause her pain, yes, and he hated that. But that was better than the pain and misery she would feel in the future if she ended up married to him. He stayed silent.

"I thought you couldn't," Lavinia said sadly, "I think I've always known you still loved her. From the moment we walked into the room at that concert in 1916, and I saw the way you two looked at each other. Until then, I had thought that you felt the same for me as I felt for you. You were so kind and so caring towards me, I thought it was love. But then I saw you and Mary together and I knew then what real love looked like. You were so right together, _are_ so right together. I've been deceiving myself all these years, and so have you. We just needed proof. And that is what I got last night."

They were both silent again. What was there to say? They both knew Lavinia was right. They reached a bench, not the one Mary always sat on, and Lavinia sat down.

"Will you marry Mary now? Because my greatest desire now is to see you happy, and I believe she will make you happy. You may find it hard to believe, but although I hate the idea of her, I rather like Mary." Lavinia was speaking in a voice that was strangely emotionless.

"I don't find it at all hard to believe, because I know you are a wonderful person, Lavinia. I admire that you can like her. But I can't marry her for the same reason I can't marry you; I can't condemn her to the life she would have as the wife of a cripple. And she's engaged to Carlisle."

"If you call yourself a cripple one more time Matthew… And you wouldn't be condemning her to anything, just like you wouldn't have been condemning me to anything. We are adults, Matthew, and capable of making our own choices. As to Sir Richard, she clearly doesn't love him. If you were free, I'm sure she would…"

"No. She says she has to marry him. I think he knows something about her, some secret he's threatening to expose. She won't tell me what it is. Sorry, I shouldn't be telling you this. You're the last person I should be burdening with my problems with Mary!" Matthew suddenly saw the ridiculousness of the situation, and almost laughed. He didn't though, seeing that Lavinia would certainly not feel like laughing.

"No, don't apologise," she said quietly, "I know what he's like, I know what it's like to be in his power. Do you think Mary tell you if you tell her about… what's just happened between us?"

"I don't know. Maybe. I doubt it."

"You have to try though. I think… I think it's better if I leave now, go home. I think we know where we stand. I have to try to move on. I don't think I can bear to stay here. I'll leave today, or tomorrow. I'll say Papa needs me. He's still not well, you know. I want you to be happy. Do everything you can to be happy Matthew. And don't forget me. You owe me that, I think." Lavinia was struggling to keep her composure, and couldn't meet Matthew's eye.

She got up and took him back to the house in silence.

Lavinia left on the next train. Matthew felt guilty to feel relief at her departure. He wasn't sure when and how to tell the family that she wouldn't be returning. He had to speak to Mary first though, to finally force her to disclose her secret.

He would have to wait until later though. She had gone to Ripon for a dress fitting. The girls were all getting new evening dresses, their first since before the war.

* * *

Mary was distracted during the fitting. She really couldn't care less about dresses. There were other things on her mind. Had Matthew spoken to Lavinia? She kept hearing his words in her head: 'It's you I…' Surely it was 'love' that he would have said if Lavinia hadn't come in?

Sybil noticed that her sister's thoughts were elsewhere. When they arrived home, she caught Mary's arm as Edith and Cora went into the house.

"Are you alright Mary?" she asked.

Mary looked at her little sister and thought how impossible it would be to explain everything to her. She appreciated Sybil's concern, but it wouldn't do anyone any good for her to unload all her cares to Sybil. She had to sort out her problems herself.

"I'm fine," she said irritably. She only realised when she saw the hurt expression on Sybil's face how unkind her answer had sounded. But it was too late to un-say it, and it was better that Sybil didn't know what was going on, so she walked into the house without apologising or explaining.

She went straight up to her room and lay face down on her bed, wondering what she ought to do, and getting nowhere.

She didn't realise how long she had been there until Anna came knocked and came in.

"It's time to change, Mary. Are you alright?"

"I don't know what to do, Anna. I've been avoiding everyone all day. I think Lavinia overheard Matthew and me talking last night. We said some things that… well, I'm not sure how much she heard. I think Matthew was going to speak to her this morning."

"I thought you knew. Miss Swire has gone home, she left just before lunch. It was all very sudden. I think she said her father was ill and needed her. But if she heard… well I don't know what you were talking about but…" Anna looked at Mary as she finished speaking, hoping Mary would tell her.

Mary took a deep breath.

"She walked in when Matthew was half way through telling me… telling me he loved me," Mary said, her voice shaking with emotion.

Anna gasped and then smiled.

"Then you talked to him. What happened? Will you still marry Sir Richard? Or did Mr Crawley…"

"Don't get excited, Anna. He didn't propose. We're both still engaged. And I still have to marry Sir Richard. But if Lavinia's gone then maybe… But even so, he said last night that he was still determined not to marry because he said he could never be a proper husband to any woman. But Anna, that matters nothing to me. I love him. I will always love him. That is all there is to it."

"Did you tell him that?" Anna asked.

Mary closed her eyes. It seemed so simple and obvious to tell Matthew how she felt when she was discussing it with Anna. But whenever she found herself alone with Matthew, which was unusual anyway, the time never seemed right somehow, or they were interrupted, like they were last night. What would have happened if Lavinia hadn't come last night? She would never know. She opened her eyes again and looked at Anna.

"No. Maybe if Lavinia hadn't interrupted. But nothing changes the situation with Sir Richard." Mary sighed and got up to dress.

"Even so. You have to speak properly with Mr Crawley."

"I know," Mary replied.

* * *

It was easier said than done, however. With Lavinia gone, Sir Richard was keeping an even closer eye on Mary, as was Cora. She found it impossible to slip away, since one or the other of them always seemed to be with her, watching her every move.

But that evening, when everyone else had gone up to bed, Robert caught her arm.

"I need to talk to you Mary," he said, his voice low. "Come to the library."

She followed him, curious as to what on earth her father could want to talk to her about. He very rarely spoke to her alone, and she could not recall a single occasion in the last few years on which he had sought her out specifically for that purpose.

When they entered the library, Robert sat down heavily on the sofa and gestured for her to sit opposite.

"Why are you marrying Carlisle when he so clearly gets on your nerves, and when you clearly don't like him?" Robert began, looking at Mary intensely.

Mary was speechless. This was not the sort of thing she usually spoke about with Papa. Had the tension between her and Richard been so obvious? And how on earth could she answer him without telling him the truth?

"Is it because he is threatening to expose the fact that Mr Pamuk died in your bed all those years ago?"

Mary nearly fainted with shock. How did he know? Oh God, he knew her secret. He must hate her, must be so disappointed in her.

"When did you find out? Did Mama tell you? How disappointed you must be," she asked when she had recovered herself sufficiently.

Robert sighed.

"I can't pretend I'm not disappointed. But more than anything, I'm saddened to find that you told Carlisle before me. Did you ever mean to tell me, Mary? Do you not trust me enough?"

"Oh Papa! I just couldn't bear the thought of what you would think of me, what you must think of me now. I had to tell Richard, or the story would have been published. He is all that stands between me and ruin. I am so sorry Papa. I know what you must think of me, and I deserve it all," Mary said sadly.

"Your Mama chose her moment well. Perhaps you were right not to tell me; I'm not sure I would have reacted well then. But we've all lived through a war since then. There's nothing like a war to put things into perspective. But that is why you are going to marry Carlisle? That is the only reason?"

"Yes. And Papa, I'll never find another man who would be prepared to marry me knowing my shame. There are rumours already; didn't you ever wonder why I was so much less popular in the last season before the War? Even if Richard didn't publish (and I think he would), I am in Mama's phrase 'damaged goods'. Richard is my only hope of a position, a life."

"And is that worth it?" Robert asked her. Mary didn't, couldn't reply. Then Robert continued, "What about Matthew? Your Mama says you didn't marry him before the War because you couldn't tell him. But Mary, I think you underestimate him; he is a good man and he loved you; he would forgive you. Is there not hope for you yet? If you were married quickly, surely any scandal would lose much of its power? If you were settled when Carlisle publishes, it would die down eventually. And I think you and Matthew would both be so much happier together. Is it really impossible? Any fool can see you still love each other."

"You forget Lavinia, Papa. Matthew is engaged. And you can't just make plans like this without consulting him."

"I'm not. You must speak to him. You must tell him. Then you can decide what to do."

"But don't you see, Papa? Matthew may love me now, but will he when he knows? He will despise me. He has perfect, pure, good Lavinia. He wouldn't want a… a whore instead," Mary said bitterly.

"Mary! Do not use that word to describe any woman, especially not yourself!" Robert said, shocked.

"I'm sorry Papa. But I'm afraid it's true. You are right that Matthew is a good man, but that is precisely why he would not love me if he knew the truth. He deserves to marry a good woman, not one like me. He would despise me if he knew what I did."

"You can't know until you tell him. If it doesn't work out between you, you could always go away, to America. You could stay with your Grandmother, find some American to marry; I doubt they read the gossip columns of English newspapers over there. Whatever happens, you must not marry Carlisle. I don't want my daughter to be married to a man who threatens her with ruin."

"Oh Papa!" Mary exclaimed, and rushed over to where he was sitting. She embraced him, crying tears of relief.

Robert held her and felt how small she was, how fragile and frightened she was in this harsh world she had to live in. He wished he could protect her from everyone and everything that night hurt her, but he was horribly aware that he couldn't. He could save her from an unhappy marriage though, and he would ensure that he did.

Mary went to sleep that night more hopeful than she had been since before the War.

 _ **I promise they will talk to each other soon, but when were things ever simple and easy for Mary and Matthew?**_

 _ **Thank you again for the nice reviews, I'll try my best to live up to them.**_


	8. Chapter 8

_**Rather a long chapter this week, but I hope it's not any worse for it. See the end of the chapter for more extensive notes.**_

 _ **Enjoy!**_

Mary's hopefulness didn't last. When she awoke the morning after the conversation with Robert, her first thought was that she had to end her engagement with Sir Richard. She knew it wouldn't be easy, and would probably involve rather a lot of shouting. There was no hope, she supposed, of Richard not publishing her story soon after she told him. She didn't want to go to America, but it seemed the only sensible option. She didn't want to count Matthew as an option; things were too uncertain.

She hadn't seen her grandmother for years. It was a long voyage from America, and certainly not one that could be undertaken during a war. She supposed there would be enough to do there: parties to attend, people to meet, visits to pay. But that sort of life seemed empty and meaningless to her, and the thought of being so far from Matthew for so long was terrible.

She still hadn't spoken to him, didn't know what had happened with Lavinia. Part of her wished Lavinia had heard everything, and would go away now. But another part of her hated the thought of how much pain hearing their conversation would have caused Lavinia. She knew it was wrong of them to have said what they did when they were both engaged to other people, and although she felt no guilt about doing anything that would hurt Richard's feeling (if he had any), Lavinia was a different matter altogether. She was so sweet and innocent, and she loved Matthew, that was blindingly obvious.

Mary decided to escape Richard and find an opportunity to talk to Matthew, then speak to Richard after dinner and end their engagement.

But at breakfast, Richard was watching her like a hawk. Whenever she tried to catch Matthew's eye across the table, Richard would say something to her, and she would have to respond.

She decided to go for a ride to clear her head and to escape Richard's oppressive presence. Thankfully, he did not ride, and therefore could not follow her. She would then be able to think clearly and know what to do. She hoped optimistically that everything would seem easier after a ride.

She was infinitely glad that she had been able to keep Diamond, when she had seen so many other horses being taken by the army for use in battle. The vast majority of them had never returned. Having an Earl for a father had many advantages. Robert had refused outright to allow his daughter's horse to be taken, and nobody had dared to contradict him, so Mary's beloved Diamond had remained safely at Downton, available to ride whenever Mary needed to get out of the house.

She wished she could be allowed out alone, to gallop freely in the fresh winter air. But her parents still insisted that Lynch accompany her. She didn't mind the kind and helpful groom, but his presence was somehow restrictive. She longed for liberty, and it wasn't the same with Lynch always riding beside her and watching her. Nevertheless, the ride really did help her think with a clarity she never seemed to be able to find indoors about what she had to do.

She dared not hope that things would go well with Matthew. She would not talk at length with him. She would simply ask about Lavinia and inform him of her intention to end her engagement to Sir Richard, whatever the cost. She supposed she would have to tell him about Kemal too, she couldn't bear the thought of him reading it in a newspaper over breakfast. But that would come later. She didn't have to worry about that today.

When she left the stables for the house after her ride, she saw Sybil walking quickly back to the house from the garage. She called out to her, still feeling guilty for her impatience and secretiveness with her sister the day before. Sybil turned quickly, an alarmed and almost guilty expression on her face. Then it changed to defiance, before Sybil mastered herself and forced a smile. Mary was suspicious. What on earth was Sybil up to now?

Perhaps she was getting Branson to teach her to drive. It was just the sort of thing Sybil would do, but somehow it didn't seem so rebellious now Edith could drive, and that, thought Mary cynically, would make it far less attractive to Sybil.

Then another suspicion crossed Mary's mind. She had had other things on her mind recently, but she remembered about her suspicions about Sybil and Branson. She had been so wrapped up in her own troubles, she had forgotten about it. But when she thought about it, she realised that she had seen Sybil with him more than could possibly be required under normal circumstances.

Sybil had stopped to wait for Mary to catch up. When Mary reached her, she decided that she must know the truth.

"What were you doing in the garage, Sybil?" she asked innocently.

"Nothing. I wasn't… I mean…" Sybil struggled to think of an excuse, then looked Mary in the eye defiantly and said, "I was talking to Branson."

Mary was becoming more certain with every passing second that her suspicions were correct. She took Sybil's arm and led her, instead of towards the house, to the garden, and to her favourite bench.

"Sybil. I hope you know that you can trust me. I am your sister and I love you. I just want you to be happy. Darling, please tell me the truth: what is going on between you and Branson?"

"Going on? Nothing. I like to talk to him, that's all. He's so clever, you know and knows all about politics. He's the only person one can have a proper discussion with here," Sybil said, attempting to sound innocent, but rushing her speech in a way which merely served to increase Mary's suspicion.

"I don't doubt that he knows all about politics; everyone knows what he's like. But Sybil, please tell me the truth. I know there's more to it than that. Remember, I'm on your side, like I said when we spoke of this before. I can't help you if you don't tell me the truth."

Sybil struggled with herself for a moment. She knew she could trust Mary. But at the same time, she knew that Mary would disapprove. She didn't want to fight with her sister, but she desperately wanted to tell somebody about her and Tom. She hated the sneaking about. They had done nothing wrong; he had not even kissed her, although she knew he wanted to. His self-restraint made her love him even more; he showed such consideration to her.

She made her decision.

"Don't go mad Mary. If I tell you, you must promise to keep it completely secret. You can't tell anyone, not Mama, not Edith, not Matthew," Sybil said, looking at Mary seriously.

"Of course I won't tell anyone if you don't wish me to. But really Sybil, Edith? Can you imagine me sitting down to have a cosy private sisterly chat with her?" Mary asked, causing Sybil to lose her grave expression and snort with laughter. She regained her composure, then said,

"Tom has asked me to run away with him. He loves me and I… well, I think I love him."

Mary was stunned, even though that was what she supposed she had been expecting.

"And will you?" she asked, "Run away with him?"

"I don't know. He has waited so long… He's pressing me for an answer now the war is over. I really do think I love him, Mary."

"Think? You can't be thinking of running away with the chauffeur when you only _think_ you love him! Sybil, you realise what Papa will say, what he will do when he finds out. He'll refuse his permission, cut you off. Are you sure that's what you want?"

"Of course that's not what I want. What I want is a life with Tom. I do love him, Mary. I love him more than I ever thought it possible to love a man. I want to marry him. The only reason I haven't given him an answer is that I don't want to give up my family. Because you're right about Papa. Tom says it would be you giving me up, not the other way around. But the fact remains that I would be choosing him over you," Sybil said, glad to finally be able to discuss her dilemma with somebody.

"I hope you know that whatever you did, whoever you married, I would always be there for you, Sybil. You won't be giving me up, and I would never give you up. And I'm sure Edith would say the same. But even so, you simply can't do this! You can't marry the chauffeur! Can't you see it's utter madness?" Mary implored.

Sybil was quiet for a minute. Then she looked Mary in the eye levelly and said quietly but firmly:

"If Matthew was a chauffeur, would you love him any less? If he was a chauffeur, and you were both free to marry, and he asked you, you would marry him wouldn't you? I don't believe for one minute that you hesitated to accept his proposal before the war because Mama was pregnant. I didn't understand why you did, but I know it wasn't that. Love is love. We do not choose whom we love or when or how. Love is not sensible and practical. But my love for Tom Branson is every bit as real and as deep as your love for Matthew Crawley. Consider that, and then tell me that what I'm doing is wrong."

Mary did consider it. And she saw clearly the truth of Sybil's words.

"But you say you have not made your decision yet. Is there still hope that you might change your mind?" Mary asked.

"I haven't decided. But I nearly have. I can't live this life anymore, Mary. I don't know how I filled my days before the War. I know what it is to work now, to feel tired in a good way at the end of the day, to feel needed. I was never suited to this life, Mary, you must have seen that. This is my chance of happiness. Support me in this, please."

Mary knew she shouldn't. She knew how the rest of the family would react. But she also knew what it was to love someone, and she knew what it was to ruin one's chance of happiness. She couldn't let Sybil make a similar mistake to her own.

"I will. I will help you. But please, don't do anything stupid yet. Papa's only just recovering from the war. I won't forget what he said the other night about his life no longer having purpose. You can't give him more to worry about now. But I will help you, I promise."

"Oh Mary!" Sybil cried out in relief, "You have no idea how grateful I am to you, how wonderful it is not to have to face this alone. Now," she said more seriously, "tell me what is worrying you so much. Tell me why you're marrying Sir Richard. You have helped me, now I will help you in any way I can."

Mary considered telling her sister everything. But what could she tell her? She herself didn't know how things would be after she had spoken to Richard, didn't know how things stood between Matthew and Lavinia.

"You can't help me Sybil. I am in a mess of my own creation, and only I can free myself. There are things I can't tell you. But tomorrow, I think I'll have something to tell everyone. Don't ask now, please."

Sybil was confused and curious, but she respected her sister's privacy and rose from the bench without questioning Mary any further. Mary followed suit and they walked back to the house arm in arm.

Mary had been out longer than she had planned, and it was now lunch time. She had to miss lunch as she badly needed to wash. Thankfully, Anna had thoughtfully drawn a hot bath for her, which she sank gratefully into after shedding her dirty clothes. A bath always made everything seem so much better, and Mary found herself almost looking forward to breaking with Richard. By tonight, she would be free…

Mary couldn't have such a long and luxurious bath as she wanted, however, because she remembered that Isobel was coming for tea and didn't want to miss her.

By the time she was dried, dressed and ready, Isobel had arrived. When she entered the room, Isobel, Cora, Edith and Sybil were conversing animatedly and drinking tea. Matthew, who was not really taking part in the conversation, was the first to notice her, and he smiled at her in a way which made her feel warm inside. Isobel, who was facing away from the door, saw Matthew's smile and knew immediately that the only person whose appearance could make her son smile like that was Mary.

"Did you have a good ride?" asked Cora.

"Good enough. I felt good to be out. I haven't been riding for ages," Mary replied, sitting down next to Matthew.

After that, they talked about the work of Isobel's refugee charity. Cora was not really interested, but feigned interest because she was so pleased that it had distracted Isobel from her plans for Downton Abbey. Matthew and Mary followed the conversation for a while, but as soon as possible began a private conversation. They agreed that they would go out in the garden when Isobel left, before Richard appeared, so they could talk privately.

They made their escape as soon as Isobel left the room.

They talked about unimportant things until they reached their usual bench, for fear of being overheard by anyone walking near the house.

"It's over between Lavinia and me," said Matthew after a moment.

Mary stared at him.

"Over? You mean… you're not engaged anymore? What happened? Did she hear… everything the other night?"

"Yes. Everything. Oh God Mary, I feel awful. It must have been awful. I've been the worst fiancée imaginable to her. For her to hear it by accident like that… We shouldn't have been talking like that."

"I know." They were silent for a minute.

"You and Carlisle. You're still engaged. Mary, whatever secret you are hiding, whatever he has on you, you must not marry him. Whatever it is, it can't be worth a lifetime of unhappiness. I hope you know that whatever happens, you will always have a home here. You don't ever need to marry if you don't want to. Mary, please tell me. Tell me what your secret is. Do you not trust me?"

"It's not that. I just can't tell you. You would despise me, Matthew, and that I could not bear."

Mary looked down and felt Matthew's intense gaze on her. She couldn't tell him. The thought of him knowing made her want to curl up and die. But then if she did what she was planning to do and broke off her engagement to Richard, she would have to tell him. This is what had been going around and around in her head all day, and it got her nowhere.

Then Matthew's quiet, gentle voice cut across her thoughts.

"You're wrong," he said, and Mary looked up in surprise. "I never would, I never could despise you."

Mary didn't know what to say in answer, so she was quiet for a moment before saying,

"I'm not going to marry him. I've made my decision. I cannot live the rest of my life with that man. I'm going to tell him tonight, after dinner. Then… well, I'll have to tell you about… tell you my secret. Because soon it will be in all the papers and I will be ruined."

To her horror, Mary found that she had to stop speaking, because her eyes were hot and blurred with tears. She looked down, hoping Matthew wouldn't notice. She was usually so in control of herself, it was embarrassing for her to be in this state.

Matthew, however, did notice. He wished he could hold her in his arms and let her cry freely onto his shoulder until she felt better. He wished he could slit Carlisle's throat for doing this to her. He wished he could do so many things. But he simply reached out a hand and wiped away one of Mary's tears. She started and tensed when he touched her, then relaxed, the gentle stroking of his finger soothing her a little.

"What will you do?" he asked when he judged her to be able to speak again.

"Papa suggested I go to America and stay with my grandmother for a few months, a year at most, until the scandal dies down. Perhaps there'll be a man there who doesn't read English papers."

"Will the scandal be that bad? And you told your father?" Matthew asked, suddenly terrified at the thought of a year without Mary.

"Mama told him."

"And does he despise you?" Matthew asked.

"He's… he's very disappointed in me. But he told me I must not marry Sir Richard anyway. I've always know he hates Richard, but I never realised he would risk becoming a house of scandal simply to get rid of him," Mary said.

"Is there any chance Carlisle won't publish your secret? Does he not harbour even some slight affection for you?" asked Matthew hopefully.

"I can't tell. I don't understand him. Only he knows what he will do. I don't know what he feels for me, but I do know he cares more about selling newspapers than he does about any person living. Even if he doesn't publish though, my story will still be out there and he certainly won't protect me any longer," Mary replied sadly. Then she shook herself and got up, walking round to the back of Matthew's chair.

"We'd better be getting back. They'll be wondering where we are," she said in a falsely bright voice, and began to push Matthew back to the house. She had wanted to tell him how she felt so badly, but somehow it felt wrong to do so when she still wasn't free of Richard. Tomorrow, perhaps, she would feel differently.

Unbeknown to them, Sir Richard Carlisle himself had been watching them from the window of the library. He had seen the way they had hurried away from the house and waited until they were far enough away not to be heard before talking. He had seen the way they spoke with their heads close together, leaning in towards each other in a way that suggested a greater intimacy than was usual between cousins. He had seen Matthew tenderly caressing Mary's face, although he had not seen the tears.

He was furious with both of them, and was desperate to know what they had been talking about. How was it that Mary felt she could openly show her love and intimacy with her cousin when she was engaged to him? It made him look faintly ridiculous, that his fiancée so obviously preferred a cripple to him. He had it in his power to ruin her, and yet she treated him atrociously. He would tell her it was unacceptable, he would make her stop.

* * *

Both Matthew and Sir Richard watched Mary closely during dinner that evening. She was aware of their eyes on her, one pair blue and friendly, the other cold and grey and hard. She was talking as much as usual, and even laughing, but there was something desperate about the way she clung to talkativeness to save herself from despair and crippling fear, and there was something almost hysterical in her high pitched laugh.

Matthew thought she looked beautiful nevertheless. The false cheerfulness made her cheeks glow pink, and she was wearing an evening gown of black silk. The knowledge that she would soon be free seemed to make her all the more beautiful to Matthew. Was it possible that she would stay here and endure the shame of scandal if he asked her to? He couldn't bear the thought of even a day without Mary, never mind endless months. Oh, if only she would tell him what the secret was! How could he help her if he didn't know what it was she was afraid of?

But even Mary couldn't manage to look normal as the dreaded conversation drew nearer. When the ladies went through to the drawing room, she gave up pretending and picked up a book. If she couldn't concentrate on the words and the story, at least it gave her something to do with her hands, something to look at with her eyes and an excuse not to join in the conversation her mother, grandmother and sisters were having about how the war had changed things for women (Sybil of course had introduced the topic and was shocking her grandmother with her radical ideas). Normally it would have interested Mary, but tonight…

She caught Sir Richard's eye as soon as he entered the room, and they excused themselves and went to the library.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Sir Richard turned on Mary.

"I'm surprised you wanted to talk to me, your _fiancée,_ instead of your beloved Cousin Matthew. I saw you in the garden with him earlier, and it looked for all the world as if it were he you were going to marry, not me. You may think you can treat me like your inferior, like some servant, but let me tell you, I will not stand for it. I am protecting you, and the minute I stop, you will be ruined. I am your saviour, and you should be grateful. Do you wish me to withdraw my protection, to leave you to the mercy of men who are, believe me, much crueller than I? I will not marry a woman who so openly prefers the company of another man," he said angrily.

"And I will not marry a man who can only keep me with threats. I will brave the storm, Richard. I would do anything rather than marry a man as cruel and hard as you," Mary said quietly, but with a firmness and resolution in her voice that made argument futile.

"What did you say?" said Sir Richard, his voice rising in volume.

"I cannot marry you, Richard. Our engagement is over." Mary slowly removed her engagement ring and placed it carefully on a table. To her surprise and relief, she saw her hand was not trembling. It was a relief to put the awful thing down, with its ugly and ostentatiously large diamond. She felt lighter now it was off.

"My God Mary, what more could I have done?" asked Sir Richard, beginning to pace up and down the room.

"Nothing," Mary replied, "but you must see we're not well suited. We'd never be happy."

"You won't be happy by the time I've finished with you, I promise you that," Carlisle said, turning on Mary angrily, a vain of pure ice running through his voice.

"Of course I'm grateful…" Mary began, but he cut across her.

"And so you should be!" he almost shouted, "I buy your filthy scandal. I keep it safe from prying eyes. All for you. You don't think it holds now, do you? You don't think I'll save you for one more day."

Mary lost her temper.

"And you wonder why we wouldn't make each other happy?" she shouted exasperatedly. As she spoke, the door opened, and Matthew came in.

"Mary, are you quite alright?" he asked as he wheeled himself closer to her.

His arrival further incensed Carlisle.

"Oh, here he is, the beloved, sainted Cousin Matthew. Can't she be trusted even to get rid of me on her own? Or does she need a cripple to help her?" he said mockingly.

Matthew gritted his teeth and ignored Carlisle.

"I heard shouting," he explained to Mary.

"You know why your beloved cousin stayed with me so long, don't you? You know what she did, what she is?" Carlisle asked Matthew.

Matthew knew Carlisle would take great pleasure in telling him Mary's secret, and decided not to give him that pleasure.

"I know," he said, "and I know what you are too, a bully and a blackmailer."

"You realise that your family will soon be notorious, and all because of your little whore of a cousin!" Carlisle shouted.

Matthew lost his temper.

"You bastard!" he said. Carlisle was standing next to him now, trying to make him feel small and intimidated. Matthew longed to hit his sneering face, but couldn't reach. Instead, he had a better idea, and hit Carlisle where he could reach, and where he calculated would be the most painful.

Carlisle's eyes widened in shock and pain, and he keeled over in agony, falling against a table and sending an old vase crashing to the floor. Mary put her hand over her mouth in shock, but at the same time wanted to laugh and shout out in triumph simultaneously.

The noise the breaking of the vase created carried to the drawing room, and Robert almost ran to the library to see what was going on. He knew what Mary was telling Carlisle, and had let Matthew leave without comment when they heard raised voices. Now he wondered if that was such a good idea. Matthew's presence might give Mary some moral support, but now he thought about it, it was hardly tactful.

He burst into the room and saw Mary's expression of shock, Matthew's anger and satisfaction, and Carlisle pushing himself upright against a table, grimacing in pain, the broken vase at his feet.

"What on earth is going on in here?" he shouted. Then he walked over to Mary and put a reassuring hand on her shaking shoulder.

"I presume you will be leaving in the morning?" he said coldly to Carlisle, who was glaring with an expression of pure hatred at Matthew. "What time should I order your car?"

"How smooth you are. What a model of manners and elegance. I wonder if you'll be quite so serene when the papers are full of your eldest daughter's exploits," said Carlisle sneeringly.

"I shall try to be," Robert replied, perfectly in control of himself.

There was a rustle of skirts, and the Dowager Countess walked in.

"What on earth's the matter?" she asked.

"I'm leaving in the morning, Lady Grantham. I doubt we'll meet again," Sir Richard replied.

"Do you promise?" asked Violet, almost smiling. Sir Richard didn't answer, and left the room looking murderous.

Matthew wasn't sure whether to feel triumphant or guilty; his actions had hardly been those of a gentleman, but then, he could not have let that bastard get away with talking to Mary in that manner. He spoke for the first time since his attack on Carlisle.

"Sorry about the vase," he said to Violet, looking rather sheepish.

"Oh don't be, don't be. It was a wedding present from a frightful aunt. I have hated it for half a century," she reassured him.

Robert looked at his heir, and considered asking precisely what had happened, then thought better of it, and left the room, shooting his mother a look which clearly meant that she ought to leave too. Although not usually one to follow instructions or orders, especially from her son, she saw that Mary and Matthew should be left alone and followed him.

Mary and Matthew looked at each other seriously for a minute. Then the corner of Matthew's mouth began to twitch. They both burst out laughing, with relief and with the memory of Sir Richard's face when Matthew hit him. Every time they began to calm down they would catch each other's eye and begin laughing uncontrollably again.

"What possessed you to…?" Mary managed before losing control again. This question however made Matthew become suddenly serious.

"He called you a whore, Mary. He was threatening you. I can't think of a man who deserved it more. And I won't deny it gave me great pleasure to prove to him what a cripple can do. There are advantages to being at this height," Matthew replied. Mary couldn't tell how serious he was being, but was almost hysterical at this point and laughed even harder.

Then she suddenly remembered the consequences of what had happened, and stopped laughing abruptly. She would have to tell Matthew before he saw in the papers, which judging by Richard's behaviour, would be sooner rather than later. But not tonight. She couldn't face it tonight.

"Don't press me, Matthew. I promise I will tell you before you hear it somewhere else. Just… not tonight," she said wearily. Matthew nodded.

"I can't face the family now," Mary said. "I'm going to bed. Do you want me to help you…?" she asked tentatively, wondering if he might be offended; he'd been wheeling himself around without help for a while, but she thought he looked tired, and it was late.

Matthew at first resented her suggestion that he couldn't manage alone, but then reminded himself that she was only trying to help. He _was_ tired, and the more he thought about it, the more he thought that the fact she had noticed meant that she was watching him and cared about him.

While he was thinking this, there was a pause that was awkward for Mary, who thought he was annoyed with her.

"Thank you. It's been a long and… eventful day," he said, smiling at her so she could see she had done nothing wrong. She returned the smile, then went behind him and pushed his chair in the direction of his room.

"I was thinking of asking William to be my valet, when he's well. Bates can't be expected to carry on like this, doing two jobs. And Molesly, well, he couldn't do everything… I mean I don't know him well enough for… what I mean is, I know William so much better, we are friends, although I know it's probably strange for you to think of friendship with a servant, but in a war…" Matthew trailed off, finding it impossible to explain what it was like to fight in a war with someone.

"I understand. Papa and Bates. And I would say Anna was as much my friend as my maid, however surprising that may seem to you. I think it's a wonderful idea."

"Do you think your father would mind, what with the shortage of footmen after the war?" Matthew asked.

"Of course he wouldn't! And Papa is an Earl. There are plenty of men who will work for an Earl. William will be back in a week or so, according to Anna. Write him a letter tomorrow. It would be a promotion for him anyway, to be a valet."

By this time, they had reached Matthew's room. Mary opened the door for him and bade him goodnight, then went upstairs to her own room. She was greeted by Anna, who knew what Mary had done that evening, and was desperate to know how it had gone.

"Mi' lady! I mean, Mary! How did it go? Are you alright? There's such talk downstairs. Someone said you'd thrown a vase at him! He's leaving tomorrow is he? Did you throw a vase at him? Will he… will he publish?" Anna said, speaking at such a speed it was difficult to follow what she was saying.

"Slow down, Anna. Let me actually answer your questions. It went… badly, but that was to be expected. Yes I'm alright now, but I suspect none of us will be soon. Yes, he is leaving tomorrow, on the earliest train. No, I didn't throw a vase at him, although now you say that, it would have been quite satisfying if I had. And yes, I'm fairly sure he will publish. But… Oh Anna, it was brilliant. Matthew came in when we were arguing. Then Sir Richard called me a… a whore. And Matthew lost his temper and punched him… somewhere that hurt rather a lot. Then Richard fell into a table that had that hideous vase of Granny's on it, and the vase fell to the floor and smashed. I suppose that's where the story of me throwing the vase came from. Then Papa came in and told Richard to leave, and Granny gave him one of her set-downs."

Anna stared at Mary incredulously.

"Mr Matthew punched Sir Richard… there?" she asked, gesturing.

Mary gave a nod, and they looked at each other and laughed.

Then Anna became suddenly serious.

"Will you go to America then? Because I would hate you to leave, but now Mrs Bates is dead, it won't be long before we can…" Anna trailed off, blushing.

"…Get married," Mary finished for her. "I think I'll have to go. It will be easier for everyone here if I'm away. I brought this on myself, and it's only for a few months. And I've never seen New York. I'll miss you, Anna, but you and Bates have waited so long, I'm happy for you."

They didn't say anything else as Anna prepared Mary for bed and Mary didn't sleep for a long time after Anna left her.

 _ **Thank you again for the reviews. I'd love to hear what you thought of this chapter too.**_

 _ **In response to several reviews I've had wishing Matthew will recover:**_

 **There are lots of stories in which that happens, but I'm afraid this is not one of them. The purpose of this story is to explore what would have happened if he hadn't recovered. However, Mary and Matthew will have a happy ending, and that is more than can be said for the TV series. Please stick with this story, and I promise I will prove they can be happy even if Matthew can't walk.**


	9. Chapter 9

The morning after his humiliation, Sir Richard left on the first train, and Mary announced formally to the family that her engagement to Sir Richard Carlisle was ended. This announcement was greeted with almost universal approval. Mary's relief at being free was obvious to them all.

Matthew decided to inform them that he was no longer engaged to Lavinia. He did not, however, give a reason for this, as he and Mary did not think everybody needed to know about their conversation and Lavinia's walking in on them. Lavinia having been far more popular and well liked than Carlisle, nobody was quite so overjoyed at this. Sybil in particular had liked and admired Lavinia.

Robert was hoping desperately that these announcements meant there was something going on between Mary and Matthew. He hardly dared to hope, but now they were both free to marry, perhaps…

He was still unsure that it was right for a father to encourage his daughter to marry a man who could never give her children, and whom she would have to look after for the rest of their lives. But they seemed so right together, and they really should have married years ago. If only Mary hadn't had her secret… But there was no changing the past. The future was what mattered. He'd never really been able to see Mary as a mother anyway. If Matthew made her happy, he would support them.

Cora however, was horrified. She knew that Sir Richard was likely to publish, and had already began writing a letter to her mother asking if Mary could go and stay. The fact that Matthew was no longer safely engaged frightened her. She did not want Mary married to a cripple. Mary, who had been so popular during her first season, who could have had any man she pleased. Oh, the stupid, silly girl! If only it hadn't been for her stupidity with that Turkish diplomat, everything could have been different. Now…

Cora tried to prevent Mary and Matthew being alone together too often over the next few days. This was a relief to Mary, because she was trying to prepare herself to tell Matthew about Mr Pamuk. She knew she may only have a limited time, but still she shrank from what she had to do.

One morning, just under a week after Carlisle's departure, Mary almost fainted with fright as she saw her father frown at his newspaper over breakfast. She was certain the dreadful time had come, that her story was in the papers. She waited, forgetting to breathe, for Robert to tell her that Richard had published. Then he said something incomprehensible about money and shares and Mary breathed again, the relief almost unbearable.

It was then that she decided that she must tell Matthew, that very day. She had left it long enough.

Mary went for a long walk, alone, to think about what she was going to say.

While she was out, Isobel came up to the house for coffee. She hoped that the fact that Mary and Matthew were now both free of engagements meant something, and wanted to ask her son. But she feared that it was not such good news as it appeared at first. She feared that Matthew had finally broken with Lavinia by persuading her that he was not a fit husband for her. She had thought Lavinia a stronger person than that, but really, one could not marry a man who refused to marry you.

And Carlisle was so unpleasant, she had always half thought that Mary would never go through with it. Lady Mary did not like being told what to do, and Sir Richard Carlisle was used to, and very fond of, telling others what to do. They were not in the least bit well suited, so she told herself it meant nothing.

Isobel managed, through subtle, and then less subtle hinting, to be alone with Matthew.

"Tell me the truth, Matthew. I'll know if you lie, I'm your mother. Why did you break off your engagement to Lavinia?" she asked as soon as the door had closed behind Cora.

Matthew had known that this was coming, but was still unable to find an answer to his mother's question. How could he tell her about how Lavinia had heard him and Mary saying things that two people who were engaged to others should not be saying? How could he explain Lavinia's sacrificing her own happiness for his? But he couldn't lie to his mother.

"It was her decision in the end. You know I had been trying to persuade her to leave and find someone else for months. And failing," Matthew began. "She… she said she thought we'd never be happy together, however much she loved me, because I couldn't love her like I love Mary."

"What made her suddenly decide this, Matthew?" Isobel asked, knowing instinctively that there was more that Matthew hadn't yet told her.

Matthew sighed and looked away, still ashamed at what had happened.

"She heard Mary and me talking in the library, that night she fell and twisted her ankle. We thought she was in bed resting. But she heard everything. She walked I when I was halfway through telling Mary… that I… that I love her," Matthew said, shame colouring his cheeks crimson.

"That poor girl," murmured Isobel, thinking of shy, sweet Lavinia.

There was nothing Matthew could say to justify himself, no excuses for behaving so abominably.

"Then are you and Mary…?" asked Isobel carefully, looking hopefully into her son's blue eyes.

Matthew looked away.

"No, we're not engaged, nor likely to be, if that's what you mean. I have told you before, I will not marry. Mary is going to America. Perhaps she'll meet some handsome American millionaire," he said, attempting to sound relaxed and natural, and failing.

Isobel sighed at her son's stubbornness, exasperated.

"She won't go to America if you ask her to stay. She loves you."

"Perhaps. But that doesn't change the fact that I will not condemn a young, beautiful woman to the life of a nurse, caring for me for the rest of my days," said Matthew, as tired as his mother with this conversation.

"I told you before, Matthew. Mary is perfectly capable of making her own decisions, choosing her own husband. I have tried to bring you up to see women as equal in every way to men. You disappoint me, thinking that Mary is incapable of knowing what is best for her," Isobel told him sternly.

Her accusations stung Matthew, who had always prided himself on his liberal and open-minded views. He thought of Mary, so confident and sure of herself most of the time, and so fragile and frightened when her mask slipped. She was the bravest, most wonderful woman he knew, had ever known. The accusation that he treated her differently because she was a woman made him angry. Surely that wasn't the reason he thought he knew better?

But insults and accusations are more painful the closer they are to the truth. The more he thought about it, the more he saw the truth in what his mother said. He wasn't trusting Mary to know what was best for her, when in all likelihood, he would trust a man to make a similar decision. This revelation about himself shocked him. He looked at Isobel, and she looked satisfied, knowing from his expression what he was thinking, knowing that her words were having an effect.

"Have you found out her mysterious secret yet?" she asked.

"No. But she has promised to tell me soon, when she is ready. I don't want to push her," he replied. Isobel nodded.

She left soon after, leaving Matthew in great confusion. Had his attempts to protect Lavinia and Mary from himself been misguided? Mary was certainly not happy now, and certainly didn't want to go to America. If he had it in his power to make her stay, make her happy, then he must.

He went back to his room, and felt around in a drawer of his bedside table. Amongst all the handkerchiefs and the scraps of paper, he found the two things he was looking for: Mary's lucky charm that she had given him to take to the front that day at the railway station and something else, equally precious. He remembered that day when she had given him the little stuffed toy dog; the way her soft, warm lips brushed his cold cheek, lingering a fraction of a second longer than was necessary for a goodbye kiss between cousins. _'_ _Such good luck…'_

The other thing he found was the ring he had bought all those years ago to give to Mary when he had proposed to her. She hadn't answered, bur he had been hopeful, and had bought this ring, imagining it on her slender finger. When it had all gone wrong between them, he had put it away in the back of a drawer, hating the sight of it but keeping it all the same.

When he had proposed to Lavinia, he had bought another ring, unable to picture this one on any hand other than Mary's.

Now he took it out of its box and looked at it. It was small and delicate, the diamond tiny compared to the one on the ring Carlisle had given Mary. But it was all the more beautiful for its daintiness and elegance. It was perfect for Mary.

He shut the box with a surprisingly loud click, and put both the ring and the lucky charm back in the drawer with a sigh.

* * *

Later, when Bates had helped him dress for dinner, he opened the drawer again. He took out the little black box and the little toy dog and sat there holding them, looking at them, and thinking about their rightful owner.

He suddenly remembered the time, and put both objects in his pocket without thinking. Then he shut the drawer and left his room to go to dinner.

Mary did nothing to suggest that she wanted to talk to Matthew while they were in the dining room or the drawing room afterwards. She waited until he left to go to bed.

She followed him almost immediately, and called to him quietly across the hall. He twisted around in his chair, saw her, and came back.

"I'm ready," she told him grimly, knowing there was no turning back now. She had to tell him, tell him everything. If he never spoke to her again, so be it. She would not blame him.

He gestured towards the library, and she nodded and followed him there.

"I'm ready," she repeated when she had sat down on a sofa, "It's time you knew."

Matthew thought the best policy was to stay silent and let her tell him when she was ready. He vowed to himself that he would say nothing and not judge her until she had finished.

"Do you remember that Turkish diplomat who came with Evelyn Napier for the hunt that time? Mr Pamuk he was called," she began, before she had time to lose her nerve. Matthew nodded encouragingly.

"I suppose you noticed how I behaved with him, how attractive and exciting I found him? I suppose you must have noticed, I think my behaviour made my feelings abundantly clear. You see, he made me feel alive in a way I had never felt before, made me feel like a different person, ruled by myself and my own wishes and desires rather than those of society, my family and duty. After dinner, I followed him to an empty room, and he tried to kiss me. I fought him off, told him he'd misunderstood me. Then I went back to the rest of the party. I thought that was the end of it.

"But then later, I was reading in bed, almost ready to go to sleep. And suddenly there he was, standing in the doorway dressed only in a dressing gown, a horrible grin on his face and an almost mad glint in his eyes. I don't think I've ever been so frightened in my life. I _know_ I've never been so frightened in my life. Then he came into my room. I told him to leave, told him again that he had misunderstood my behaviour, misunderstood me. But he wouldn't leave. He said that if I screamed or cried for help, I would be discovered with a man in my bedroom and I would be ruined. And he was right. I was ruined. I wanted to do anything to stop anyone finding out what I'd done, so I didn't scream. I let him… take what he wanted.

"Then… well I suppose you can guess what happened. He took my innocence, that's the polite way of putting it. It hurt, and I didn't want him there, but… when he kissed me I kissed him back. I… needed him. I hardly thought of anything, the consequences or how wrong it was. It just felt so good, I was carried away in the moment, carried away by him."

Mary stopped for a moment, fighting tears, and looking down at her hands, which were clasped so tightly on her lap, her knuckles were white. She steeled herself and took a deep breath. The next part of her story was what replayed itself in her dreams so often, and the thought of speaking of it was awful. But she had come this far, and she had vowed to herself that she would tell Matthew everything.

"Then suddenly he gave a gasp and stopped moving. I thought that might be normal at first, I didn't have any experience… But he was so still, I got worried. I tried to push him off me, but he was so heavy and so still. When I finally got him off me, his eyes were open and staring, and he was still and silent. I felt for a heartbeat, but I suppose I already knew he was dead."

Mary was shaking from reliving that horrible night. The thought of those terrible sightless eyes staring at her accusingly made her want to scream. But she controlled herself.

"I sat there for a while, too numb to think what to do. I tried to close his eyes, but they wouldn't close. Then I suddenly came back to myself and saw my predicament. There was a dead man in my bed, and it was only too obvious what he had been doing there. I tried to lift him, to carry him back to his room, but I couldn't even get him off the bed, he was so heavy and I was weak with fright. Besides, the bachelor's corridor is the other side of the house from my room.

"So I went and woke Anna. I knew beyond doubt that I could trust her. But even with both of us, we knew we'd never get him back to his room. So we woke the one person who had as much to lose if anyone found out as I did: Mama. And between the three of us, we managed to get him back to his room, where he was discovered the next morning.

"That night was like a nightmare. But I never woke up. Everything that came after it was different because of it. As I began to… to fall in love with you, to realise you were much more of a Perseus than a sea monster, every time I thought of you, it was tinged with guilt, and I knowledge that I wasn't good enough for you.

"When you proposed that night, I don't think I've ever been happier. But I couldn't say yes because I knew I couldn't marry you without telling you everything. And I couldn't. I wasn't brave enough. I hesitated and delayed. Then Mama got pregnant and everything became more complicated. It wasn't just about the two of us, it was about the future. I was confused, I didn't know what to do. Then when I was in London, Aunt Rosamund told me that I wouldn't be happy as a solicitor's wife, just as I was plucking up the courage to tell you my shame. So I delayed again. I don't know what I was waiting for. It certainly wasn't the baby. But I know what it looked like.

"I loved you so very much, you know. I wanted to marry you more than anything. But I was sure you would never love me if I told you. I couldn't bear to ruin this perfect state of suspension, when we were in love and almost engaged.

"Then Mama lost the baby, and at the same time I made my decision. I'm sorry, but even I can't tell for certain how much the former influenced the latter. Anyway, you know what happened next.

"I was desperately unhappy for months, but I knew I had to move on, and I hoped that that would be the last of the troubles Mr Pamuk would cause me. I waited at home, prayed every night that you would come home safely, even though I knew you must hate me, and you would never be mine to love. I waited and waited for you to come back. I was sure that just to catch a glimpse of you would have been enough to sustain me.

"I was heartbroken when you came here with Lavinia, engaged. But I knew it was my fault. I tried to be happy for you; you had found a kind, sweet woman who was far more worthy of you than I was. I found another man, one whom I neither loved nor liked, but who demanded neither from me, only my birth and blood. Even so, I hesitated to get engaged to him.

"Then in 1918, when you had just come home injured, Anna came to me and told me that Vera Bates, Bates' wife, had somehow got hold of my story and was going to sell it to the newspapers to seek revenge on Anna and Bates for being together when she wanted her husband back. I would be utterly ruined. So I went to see Sir Richard in London. I told him everything.

"He saved me. He bought her story, and made her sign some binding contract which meant she could never sell it to anyone else, at great trouble and great cost to himself. The next day, our engagement was announced in the papers. He didn't warn me, and Papa read it over breakfast before I told him.

"Sir Richard was pleased that I was now in his power. He enjoyed having me trapped like that. So I did nothing and resigned myself to a life of unhappiness. Then Papa told me he knew, Mama had told him, and he suggested I go to America. Now I have broken free, but I must pay the price. It is only a matter of time before he publishes, I think, although I can't say I understand him well enough to know. So now I must go to America.

"There. Now you know everything. You know my shame. You know Sir Richard was right to call me a whore."

Matthew was silent, staring at the floor. It took him a minute to comprehend what she had told him. Then suddenly everything fell into place. Mary's every word, every action, every mistake since the day of the hunt all those years ago made perfect sense. He suddenly saw every conversation she had had with him since that night in a new light. All those times she had nearly told him, and he hadn't recognised it. All those years she had had this haunting her, colouring how she saw the world and influencing her decisions.

Influencing _all_ her decisions. She had wanted to accept his proposal. She had loved him. She had said it. ' _As I began to fall in love with you...'_ And he had blamed her, had thought the worst without looking for another explanation. What had he done, with his stupid, ignorant pride?

Mary waited for what seemed like an age, then decided she could bear this silence no longer.

"Say something, if it's only goodbye," she said despairingly.

He still found himself unable to speak.

"I don't… I don't expect you to forgive me Matthew. I know it will always be different between us now. I expect nothing from you," she said looking down at her gloved hands.

"I can't ever forgive you Mary," Matthew said gravely.

"I understand."

"No, you don't. I can't ever forgive you because there is nothing to forgive. What he did to you Mary, that was rape. He took advantage of your innocence in a way that is shameful. You are not to blame for what happened to you."

"But I… I encouraged him. Earlier, at dinner, after dinner. I flirted outrageously with him. I made him think that I was something I was not. I didn't realise that he would… do what he did, but even so, the blame is mine. I could have screamed. It would have been bad, but it would have been better than letting him have what he wanted." Mary's voice was desperate. She needed him to understand. Then she almost whispered, "And the worst part was that I didn't fight him. I could have hit him, done something. But I didn't. I kissed him back. He didn't force me, Matthew. I am at fault."

"He trapped you Mary. You had a choice between letting him do what he wanted with you, and making it more painful for yourself. Don't deceive yourself Mary, he was young and strong. You couldn't have fought him off if you had tried. You didn't want him in your room and you certainly didn't invite him. It was rape. It was not your fault," he said firmly.

Mary stared at him. For so many years, she had imagined, dreaded his reaction to her revelation. But never had she imagined this. Even in her happiest and wildest dreams, she had hoped for some sort of forgiveness. And now, here Matthew was, her beloved, perfect Matthew, and he wasn't forgiving her because he believed there was ' _nothing to forgive'._

And slowly, Mary began to see the logic of his argument, and slowly felt a weight being lifted from her shoulders. She had carried the burden of guilt for so many years, worried for so long about what Matthew would think. And now here he was, stroking her hair with his hands and telling her that it wasn't her fault.

She thought back to that evening. She had stopped him kissing her earlier, and she hadn't flirted with him any more than she had with any other man. She saw what she had never seen before; Kemal had taken advantage of her and she had had no choice in the matter. Her eyes filled with tears, so great was the relief she felt.

Matthew thought about his conversation with his mother earlier that day. He looked at Mary and saw a woman capable of deciding her own fate. She had been trapped by the actions of two cruel, manipulative men for so long, and he could set her free. He could let her decide what she wanted, what she would do with her life. And she loved him. He took a deep breath to buy him time and give him courage.

"Nothing has changed between us except that I now know you better. And I love you all the more for it. Now I know you completely, as you know me. You've lived your life, and I've lived mine. And now it's time we lived them together," Matthew said, caressing her face with his gentle fingers, "Would you stay, not go to America, if I asked you to? If I… if I asked you to stay here as… as my wife?"

Mary gasped, her heart leaping, almost unable to believe the evidence of her ears. A tear fell down her cheek.

"After all this time, Matthew. Are you sure?"

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life. Come here," he said, taking her hand and pulling her towards him. She stood, and nearly gave in to his attempt to pull her onto his lap.

"We've waited so long… You must do it properly, or I won't answer."

He let go of her hand and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a tiny box. He opened it, and Mary saw the most beautiful diamond ring she had ever seen.

"You've been carrying that around with you?" she said, her voice faint with shock.

"I don't think my attempting to get down on one knee would end well, so this will have to be proper enough for you. Lady Mary Crawley, would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"

"Yes," she cried, and she allowed herself to be pulled onto Matthew's lap. He slid the ring onto her finger and it fitted perfectly. He put his strong arms around her and she breathed in his wonderful scent; a combination of soap, sweat and something indefinable and familiar, the scent of _Matthew._

"Oh God, Matthew, I love you," she breathed. "I love you, I have always loved you, I will always love you." Now she had said it once, she couldn't stop saying it. After all these years of hiding her feelings, of holding her tongue, she had finally said it, and now the world seemed such a light, happy place. Matthew, her darling Matthew was going to be her husband, and she could tell him, and anyone else she wanted, just how much she loved him. She leaned in towards his beloved face, looking at his lovely blue eyes, then closed her own eyes and they kissed.

The kiss was so perfect, the world around them melted away and it was just the two of them, joined in love. His tongue found hers and it felt so good and so right, it was the happiest, most perfect moment of her life.

Matthew held her close. She was finally in his arms. He could hardly believe it. Lady Mary, his beloved and beautiful Mary, would finally be his to hold and to love. It was like a dream, but her tongue, so warm and so delicious in his mouth, was too real, too wonderful to be a dream. This, all of this, was real. He poured all his love and all his joy into the kiss, and abandoned himself entirely to her.

So absorbed were they in each other, they didn't notice Robert enter the room until he cleared his throat. They jumped and broke apart. Mary extricated herself from Matthew's arms and stood up to face her father, blushing.

"I sincerely hope from the position I found you in that you both have some news for me!" Robert said, his heart bursting with happiness.

Mary mutely held out her hand, Matthew's engagement ring glittering in the firelight.

"Oh my darling girl!" Robert cried, striding across the room and embracing her. Then he moved over to Matthew embraced him too. "I cannot begin to tell you how happy I am for you both," he said breathlessly, "I thought this day would never come."

Mary began a laugh, which changed into a sob of joy. Matthew held out his arms to her and she sank back into them and buried her face in his shoulder as he held her tightly. Robert had never seen anything that pleased him so much, but it felt as if he were intruding on a private moment, so he left quietly.

Just as he reached the door, Mary raised her head and turned to look at him.

"Don't tell anyone yet. Not even Mama. Invite Isobel and Granny for dinner tomorrow and we'll tell everyone together. Please," she asked. Robert nodded, although he didn't know how he could keep something this wonderful secret so long. But he owed it to them. They had been through so much. Everything would be precisely as they wished it to be now. He left them alone and went to bed, happier than he could remember being since before the War.

Mary and Matthew stayed in each other's arms long after he left. They kissed again, then simply looked at each other joyously. They had a lifetime of loving each other ahead of them, but even that hardly seemed enough. They were going to make the most of every second they had together. They had lost four years. They were not going to lose any more.

 _ **I have always been annoyed at the TV series because nobody ever seemed to appreciate that what happened to Mary was not her fault. A man, who was almost a stranger and who was a guest in her father's house, came to her room at night without being invited. When she asked him to leave, he threatened her, and because of the way she had been brought up, she believed that it would be best to do anything in her power to avoid a scandal. He may not have physically forced her, but she had no choice in the matter, and therefore, it was rape.**_

 _ **I realise that attitudes to rape in the early 20th Century were very different from today's attitudes, but I believe that Matthew would have seen that it was Kemal Pamuk in the wrong, not Mary.**_

 _ **This was such an important chapter to get right, so please let me know what you thought of it. Every review is much appreciated.**_


	10. Chapter 10

_**Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. It is so reassuring to hear that I got that important chapter right.**_

 _ **I hope you all enjoy this chapter too!**_

Matthew was awake when the sun rose. Even through the heavy curtains, the sunrise filled the room with a rosy glow. It hardly felt like the same room as he had slept in for so many months. It seemed like something out of a dream, or something described in a poem or a novel. And he felt as if he were living in a dream. He was so exquisitely happy, a feeling he had not experienced since… well, before the war, he supposed. Since before that awful garden party.

For a few seconds, he didn't even try to remember what it was that made him so happy, simply enjoying the feeling. Then the events of the previous evening came back to him. Mary, his darling, beloved Mary, was going to be his wife. She loved him. She had loved him through all those long years when they were apart, and she loved him now. She loved him now! She had kissed him, she had accepted his proposal and she didn't care about his broken body. He could almost feel her soft lips on his, her tongue in his mouth, her fingers running through his hair, her body so close to his he could feel her heart beating. He loved her. And she loved him.

Mary was also awake to see the sunrise, far earlier than she usually awoke. Her room was basked in the same rosy glow as Matthew's. She felt so happy, she thought for a moment she must have had a good dream. She remembered Matthew's proposal and kiss, and sighed. It wasn't as if she hadn't dreamed about him before, but last night's dream had seemed so real. She tried to recall every detail before it was too late and the dream vanished from her memory: the revealing of her secret, the forgiveness, the proposal, the kiss, the ring…

Then she felt the unfamiliar coolness of metal on her finger. Her ring finger. She was not happy because of some dream, this was real, and it was better than any dream her mind could possibly have invented. Matthew had not only forgiven her, but had proposed. And now they were to be married. She would not have believed it was true if she did not have the indisputable evidence of the ring.

How was it that everything had been suddenly made better by one conversation? It seemed so ridiculous that she had thrown away years of happiness back in 1914 because she hadn't trusted Matthew with her secret, and that now she had told him, he had instantly forgiven her. No, not forgiven her. Told her there was nothing to forgive. It seemed almost too good to be true, but it was true. Everything was going to be alright now.

* * *

Neither Mary nor Matthew told anyone of their engagement, waiting as they were for dinner. They went about in a daze of happiness and contentment all day, and kept smiling secret and intimate smiles to each other. It was a sort of sweet torture when they were in the presence of another member of the family; they could smile at each other when people were not looking, but as they had determined to keep their engagement secret, they had to do this discreetly.

Unfortunately, it was raining by the afternoon, when all they wanted to do was escape to the relative privacy of the gardens and be alone together. Although she was exquisitely happy, for Mary, the evening could not come soon enough. She wanted to be able to more openly display her affection for Matthew. For her fiancée.

It felt strange thinking of Matthew as that when for months it had been Sir Richard who had held that title. The contrast between these two men and between her feelings towards them could not have been greater. Richard had been sneering and cruel, frightening and controlling. Matthew was… wonderful. In every way. Perfect. And now, hers, forever.

Matthew was terrified they would give themselves away. He couldn't understand how nobody noticed the way his heart beat faster when she entered a room, how he found himself suddenly unable to speak when she so much as smiled at him. Of course, he had loved her for years. But knowing that she was his now made her seem even more alluring and attractive.

Sybil had other things on her mind, or she would have noticed the change in Mary and Matthew's behaviour. She had made her decision about Tom. She might not tell the family yet, remembering what Mary had said. In fact, she wasn't sure she wanted to tell Tom yet. If he knew she wanted to marry him, she was worried he would want to do it immediately. And she didn't blame him. He had been so patient when she had been unsure. But she knew now what she wanted, and she knew how she was going to get it. Tom was not only the man she loved more than any other, he was her ticket to freedom. Let her family say and do as they wanted, she would marry the man she loved and she would lead the life that would make her happy. The war was over, and the future stretched out in front of her, full of endless possibilities.

In the late afternoon, Mary and Matthew managed to sneak into the small library and be alone. Robert was out; he had meetings with Jarvis and some of the tenants that could not be put off, even though his mind was occupied by nothing but thoughts of the wonderful news he had discovered last night. Cora was in her room upstairs and she was almost certain to stay there until dinner. They didn't know where Sybil and Edith were, but since they rarely used the small library, that didn't matter.

The moment the door was closed, Mary fell into Matthew arms and they kissed, the restraint they had had to show all day making them even more eager and passionate now they were finally together and alone. After all the years of being kept apart, now they were finally engaged, they couldn't get enough of each other.

Without thinking, Matthew's hand strayed to Mary's chest and he felt for her breasts through her blouse and corset.

"God Mary, do women wear corsets simply for the purpose of torturing men?" he breathed.

"No darling. They torture us far more than they torture you. It's like wearing a cage. I think we should join Sybil in her opposition to them, don't you?"

"Mmm," Matthew agreed, unable to say anything else, as his mouth was busy kissing Mary's neck.

"Mary! Matthew!"

They turned, and saw Robert standing in the doorway staring at them with an expression of shock on his face. He had evidently returned early from his meetings. Mary jumped up and looked away from her father's gaze. Matthew felt his cheeks flush.

"Robert, I…" he began, then trailed off. It was one thing to have Robert walk in on them once, when they were kissing after becoming engaged. It was quite another for Robert to find him cupping Mary's breasts and kissing her neck.

"I see you will need to be carefully chaperoned until the wedding," Robert said, his voice stern, although it was more from embarrassment than from anger.

"Papa, we were just…" Mary said.

"Just don't let there be a third time," Robert interrupted her. "Cora will ensure you are not alone together once she knows anyway. You had both better go and change for dinner; Carson will sound the gong soon, and it's rather an important event."

Mary and Matthew nodded mutely and since Robert looked as if he were not going to leave them alone again, they left the room and went to change.

* * *

Isobel and Violet had been both puzzled and alarmed when they received Robert's summons to dinner that morning. The last time this had happened, it had been to tell them of Major Gordon's claim that he was Patrick Crawley. They feared some new piece of awful news.

When Violet arrived that evening, she went straight to her son and demanded to know what was so urgent that she and Isobel had been summoned at such short notice.

"Be patient and you will find out, Mama," he replied, keeping his promise to his daughter. Violet sniffed, but was reassured by Robert's faint smile that there was no bad news. She was desperately curious, but knew her son well enough to know when he would not do as she told him.

Mary and Matthew sat next to each other at dinner. They had decided to wait until everyone had eaten and it was time for the ladies to withdraw. Mary was wearing her ring under her gloves. She could feel the cool metal on her warm skin, and the thought of it and what it meant made her smile all the way through dinner.

Isobel and Violet watched everyone around the table for clues as to what was so important that they had to be there. They both noticed Mary and Matthew's secret smiles. Isobel knew her son, and hadn't seen him this happy in as long as she could remember. Not since he had proposed to Mary in 1914. Perhaps… She formed her own suspicions and smiled to herself, hoping against hope that she was correct.

Violet came to a similar conclusion from observing her own son, who was clearly elated about something. There was only one thing she could think of that would make him so cheerful.

When she judged that her mother was about to signal for the ladies to leave, Mary nudged Matthew. He nodded, and Mary carefully removed her gloves. Then when there was a lull in the conversation, Matthew said,

"I… We want to tell you all something." He was grasping Mary's un-gloved hand under the table. They knew some people present would be delighted, but were unsure of Violet and certain that Cora would react badly. When Matthew spoke, everyone stopped talking and eating and looked at them expectantly.

"Mary and I are engaged," he said when he knew he had everyone's attention. Mary lifted her hand up and showed everyone the ring. The diamond sparkled and there was a collective gasp as the family took in the news. Carson, standing at the edge of the room, gasped the loudest of all.

"Oh, congratulations!" cried Sybil, the first to say anything. She rose and almost ran round the table to embrace Mary and then Matthew.

"Yes, congratulations," said Edith, less enthusiastically.

Isobel was almost sobbing with joy as she said, "Oh my boy!" and followed Sybil's example, rushing around to embrace her son and future daughter-in-law.

Violet turned to Robert sternly.

"You knew. Since when?" she asked him.

"I walked in on them last night. They had no choice but to tell me, but I was sworn to secrecy," he replied happily.

"Well it's about time!" she said, smiling at Mary and Matthew. They looked at each other in relief.

Then Cora's cold voice cut through the expressions of joy and congratulations.

"You knew Robert? You spent a night and a day with me without mentioning something as momentous as this?" she said angrily. The rest of the family turned to look at her. She looked at Mary and said to her,

"You didn't think to consult me?"

"I didn't need to. I knew what you would say. Be happy for me, Mama. I am happy. Isn't that what you always said was the only thing you were concerned about?" Mary replied.

Cora couldn't continue the conversation with everybody present, so decided to wait until later when she could be alone with her daughter and husband, and make them see sense. For now she simply said,

"Congratulations."

Mary decided she didn't want to argue now, at this moment when she was so exquisitely happy, so she smiled at her mother.

Then Robert broke the ice by calling for Carson to go and find plenty of bottles of good champagne. Carson left, smiling brightly. Robert called after him.

"And open a couple of bottles to share downstairs!" he said, wanting everybody in the house to be as happy as he was at that moment. Carson thanked him and went down to the cellar.

While they were waiting for the champagne, Mary's ring was admired and Robert patted and squeezed Matthew's shoulder proudly several times. Then Isobel and Sybil began asking about the wedding.

"We hadn't got that far yet," Matthew said, laughing, "We've not been engaged twenty four hours!"

"Well, we'll need a few months to plan the wedding properly. There's so much to do," said Cora, hoping that a long engagement would give Mary time to change her mind.

Mary, however, had other ideas.

"I don't want a great fancy wedding with hundreds of guests. I'd much rather have a smaller ceremony soon than wait months for a large one. We have waited so long to be happy already, I don't see any reason to wait much longer."

"I agree," said Matthew, squeezing her hand. Isobel, Sybil and Robert nodded and looked pleased. Cora sighed and Violet sniffed, wanting things to be done properly.

"But Mary dear, you and Matthew are the future Earl and Countess of Grantham; you are expected to have a proper wedding. You will only have one wedding day. Just make sure it is what you want," Violet said.

"And Mary, you've been looking forward to your wedding day since you were a little girl," Cora said. "Be realistic; we cannot organise a proper wedding in less than three or four months."

"A proper wedding?" Mary asked, raising her eyebrows. "I thought a _proper_ wedding was having the bans read, then going to church and saying the vows. That should take no longer than three weeks." She spoke sweetly, but as she spoke, her eyes never broke contact with her mother's, and everyone could sense the determination and certainty behind her words.

There was a few seconds silence, and Cora looked away from Mary and turned her cold glare to Matthew. Of course, this was his fault, she thought to herself. If he hadn't sent Lavinia away, none of this would ever have happened. And Mary had a ring already, so clearly he had been planning this for a long time. Planning to ensnare her daughter into a marriage that would mean she would forever be a nurse to her crippled husband. And poor Mary, blinded by love, had fallen for it.

Matthew could feel Cora's gaze on him, and taking strength from Mary's hand, which was clutching his, he looked up unafraid, meeting Cora's gaze directly and holding it. He had had enough of feeling ashamed. Mary had not been happy for a long time. Now she was. These were facts. He knew he could make her happier than any other man could, and Mary deserved happiness. He had no reason to fear Cora.

Cora couldn't hold Matthew's icy blue defiant gaze and looked away, her anger increasing.

To break the tension, Isobel spoke.

"Have you thought where will you live?" she asked, practical as always.

Mary was grateful for being given an opportunity to speak, and she had been thinking about this.

"I thought… I hoped we might live here. In the rooms that used to be Granny and Grandpa's when he couldn't make it up the stairs anymore. They'll need decorating a little, but they're in good enough condition, and there's plenty of room. I looked at them this morning." She looked at her father hopefully.

"That sounds like an excellent idea," Robert said, glad his daughter wouldn't be leaving home.

Mary looked inquiringly at Matthew, willing him to agree. It really was the most sensible option, and she didn't want to leave Downton Abbey if there was a choice. But if Matthew wanted to live somewhere else, then she would agree to anything; his happiness was the most important thing in the world to her.

Matthew had been thinking about this too. He wanted to have the privacy of their own home, but at the same time, he knew how much Mary loved her home, and couldn't bear to be the cause of her having to leave it. He also didn't want her to have the responsibility of looking after him on her own. Besides, he liked Downton. Living here would also mean they could marry sooner, and he shared Mary's view that they had already waited long enough to be together.

"Yes, it sounds like a good idea, if you're sure Robert," he said, and knew he was right to do so when he saw Mary's delight.

"Of course I'm sure!" Robert replied.

Then Carson appeared with the champagne, and a large glass was poured for everyone.

"To Mary and Matthew!" said Robert, holding up his glass.

"Mary and Matthew!" they repeated, and they drank the delicious champagne.

They drank their way through several bottles, and the conversation became more and more loud and cheerful.

It was decided that Mary and Matthew would look at the rooms the next day and see what had to be done. Then they would set the date for the wedding when they knew how long the decorating would take.

Matthew was thinking that he would sleep on the sofa, or even the floor if it meant he could marry Mary tomorrow, but he knew that that was not an option.

Mary, Sybil and Edith were talking animatedly about wedding dresses and bridesmaids' outfits. Even Edith was excited and happy for her sister, much to her own surprise.

In the midst of all the excitement, Cora was forgotten and ignored because she was not joining in the celebration. Internally, she was seething. Everyone else seemed to be caught up in the joy of the moment, and she was the only one thinking practically, and considering her eldest daughter's welfare and future happiness.

* * *

Much later, when Isobel and Violet had left and everyone else was in bed, Cora asked O'Brien to fetch Mary to her. Mary arrived, dressed for bed and irritated with her mother for sending for her like this. She sat on the edge of Cora's bed and refused to look at her mother. They waited for Robert to arrive in stony silence. When he entered the room, Cora began.

"I can't believe the two of you! You kept this a secret from me, told me at dinner with everyone else because you knew I would disapprove! You said you were happy Mary, but will you be happy five, ten, twenty years in the future, when you have no children and are living the life of a nurse? I am fond of Matthew. I would like him to be happy. But I would be a poor mother if I didn't at least try to make you see what you are doing. You are throwing your youth, your beauty, your life away! I know you love him, but love can come after marriage too. Go to America, at least give yourself a chance to find someone else."

"I am a grown woman, Mama. I know what I want. You know perfectly well how long I have loved Matthew. I assure you, there is no chance whatsoever of my finding happiness with anyone else. We both tried, remember? Children and… that side of things does not matter to me, Mama. I love Matthew, I will always love him, and that is all there is to it. You can't stop me anyway. I am of age. I can marry without permission. Not that I think I will have to. Papa will give us his permission, won't you Papa?" Mary said, turning to her father.

Cora looked at him too.

"Robert?" she said.

He sighed.

"Of course I will give them my permission. I will be proud to call Matthew my son in law. I'm sorry, Cora, I know you only say what you do out of love and concern, but so do I. Haven't we had enough evidence that Mary and Matthew love each other and will only ever be happy together? I love you very much, Cora, and in many cases I would trust your judgement. But in this case, I'm sorry, but you are wrong. Whatever Matthew can and can't do, it is certain that Mary will be happier with him than she would have been with Carlisle or with any other man. Mary darling, go to bed, it is late. I am so pleased for you, both of you."

Mary left, embracing her father warmly and gratefully, then kissing her mother goodnight coldly and without emotion.

Then Robert turned to Cora.

"Please, Cora, try to understand. I know you want what's best for Mary, but Matthew _is_ what's best for Mary. I want the best for our children too, you know. And Matthew is like a son to me, as I hope he is to you."

Robert said this hopefully and comfortingly, but it was the worst thing he could have said. Cora looked away to conceal the tears in her eyes.

"A son. Your son. Because I couldn't give you one," she said bitterly.

"Cora, you know that's not what I mean. It is not your fault we have no son. That is simply the way things are, and it has nothing to do with the matter we are discussing. I love our girls and I love you, and I love Matthew too."

"Yes, of course you love Matthew. You have a son now. You can love us as much as you like, but we're nothing to _a son,_ are we? You are willing to sacrifice your eldest daughter to lead the life of a nursemaid to an impotent cripple, because he is the son you never had. I am sorry, Robert, but I am just not willing to consent to that. Mary deserves more, and if you can't see that, I despair of you." Cora was still resolutely looking the other way.

Robert sighed. There was so much he needed to say, but he simply didn't have the energy to argue now.

"I love you very much, Cora, you and the girls. Don't you ever doubt that. But how _can_ you speak of Matthew in that way?"

"Because every word I said was true, Robert," Cora replied icily. Robert sighed.

"I shall sleep in my dressing room until you see sense. Goodnight," he said tiredly as he opened the door and went through, leaving Cora alone and angry.

 _ **The next chapter is almost finished, so hopefully I will be able to update in less than the usual week.**_

 _ **We're getting closer to the wedding, although it's still a couple of chapters away, and I was wondering how detailed you would like the wedding night to be. Please let me know what you think and I will take it into account when I'm writing. Thank you!**_


	11. Chapter 11

After breakfast the morning following the announcement of their engagement, Mary and Matthew were looking at the rooms that would be their new home. They were happy and excited. Mary had a notebook and a pen, and was writing down everything that needed doing. The rooms had not been used since the death of Mary's grandfather, and the furniture was covered with white sheets to protect it from dust. There was a strange air of stillness and silence, since the suite was at the other end of the house from the rooms the family used.

"We'll need new curtains, of course," observed Mary, eyeing the faded emerald green brocade ones in the sitting room disapprovingly. She lifted the white sheets from the various items of furniture, and was pleasantly surprised to find them in good condition and all matching.

"And we'll need bookshelves. I want to be able to have our favourite novels and poems and plays all around us," she said, walking slowly towards one of the windows to look at the view of the gardens. Matthew followed her.

"And what if we don't agree on our favourite literature?" he asked teasingly.

"Then we'll just have to get more shelves, won't we," Mary replied. "But I should think we will agree. We already know we share a love of Greek legends. Especially the story of Andromeda."

Matthew laughed. "Come here Mary," he said, trying to pull her down onto his lap. The mention of Andromeda (who had been tied naked to a rock) had made him imagine all sorts of things, and he desperately needed to kiss Mary.

Mary however, resisted. "No, darling, we have work to do," she said, aware that she was torturing him, and enjoying it.

They went through to the bathroom. Mary went to the bath and turned on a tap. It sputtered a little to begin with, then warm water came out, clean and getting hotter until it was too hot and Mary had to pull her hand away. Matthew tried the taps in the sink, both of which worked fine.

"Nothing much to do in here," Matthew said. Mary was about to agree, then looked at the window and saw there were no blinds or curtains.

"We need to do something about the windows, unless you want the gardeners looking in at you having a bath!" she laughed.

They went into the dressing room. Mary pulled the white covers off a large wardrobe. A cloud of dust billowed up from it and they both coughed on it. When it cleared, Mary was surprised by the beautiful and intricate carvings of branches and leaves, flowers and fruit. She reached out and traced the carvings with her finger, loving the feel of the cold, smooth wood, and Matthew was entranced by the expression of wonder on her beautiful face. He touched the hand that was tracing the shape of the carvings. She was still for a second, surprised, but enjoying the sensation of his gentle touch, then continued to follow the shapes in the wood, his hand still on hers. They remained like this for a few minutes, enjoying simply being close to each other. Then Mary brought herself back to the task in hand.

"It's up to you what you do to this room. It will be yours. Although I sincerely hope you won't ever sleep in here," Mary said.

Matthew blinked, then smiled. He hadn't known what Mary would want in terms of sharing a bed. He had hardly dared to hope that she might want to sleep with him. The fact that she had not even seemed to consider not doing so made him happier than he could say. He was not going to let on to Mary that he had doubted her though.

"Oh, don't worry," he replied, "I promise faithfully that this bed will remain useless and un-slept-in. I've never understood couples who sleep apart. My parents never did."

"Nor mine. Except when they fight." Mary broke off and sighed. "I… I think Papa is sleeping in the dressing room at the moment. Because he and Mama disagree about us," Mary said sadly.

"Cora has a point. Are you _sure_ this is what you want, Mary? I only proposed because Mother made me see that you are capable of making your own decisions. But I just want you to realise what you are deciding. You know I can't be a proper husband to you, I can't ever give you children. I have nothing to offer you but myself. And Mary, I'm lucky to have lived this long. Most of the men who were injured like me in the war are dead now. Dead from some pathetic infection, or from bedsores. I'm still here and healthy enough now, but that could easily change. I can't do anything on my own, I can't even dress myself. I love you and I know you love me, but are you sure you know what you are taking on? Are you certain this is what you want?"

Matthew's heart hurt as he spoke, as he prepared himself for the possibility that Mary might change her mind. He looked up at her and saw the tears in her eyes. She blinked and one fell down her cheek, leaving a shimmering trail. She looked at him.

"Oh Matthew! Of course I'm certain. None of us know how much time we have in this world, but we must make the most of every day we do have. I don't love you for what you can give me, I love you because you are the cleverest, funniest, kindest, bravest, most wonderful man I have ever met or will ever meet. I love you because you made me see the truth of what happened with Kemal Pamuk, and let me begin to forgive myself. I love you because you make me a better person. I love you because I'm never as happy as I am when I'm with you. I love you. I will always love you. That is all there is, all that matters."

By the time she had finished speaking, they were both in tears. Matthew pulled her down onto his lap, and this time she didn't resist.

"And I love you, my darling, because you are the most magnificent woman ever to walk this earth," he said through his tears. Mary buried her face in his shoulder and let herself cry without trying to restrain herself for the first time since she was a child. Matthew cried silently as he held her. He cried as he had not allowed himself to since the day Mary told him he would never walk again. He cried for what he had lost, for the children they might have had, the future they might have shared if things had been different. They cried with relief, because all of that was behind them now, and they were soon to begin their new life together, and with relief that they were able to cry without any reason to stop before they were ready. They held each other tight and slowly, their eyes dried and they looked at each other, knowing and loving each other completely.

"I am certain," Mary said again, looking deep into Matthew's clear blue eyes. "We can do this, my darling. We will have a good life together. We will finally be happy. Nothing else matters. I love you."

"I love you."

They stayed still for a while. Then Mary stood up.

"Come on, we have work to do," she said brightly, "just our bedroom to go."

They went through to the bedroom. The bed was an enormous old-fashioned four poster bed made of a rich, dark coloured wood. The rest of the furniture was made of the same wood. The room was large and beautiful. The wallpaper was a deep red, and the curtains on the windows and the bed were the same colour, but a slightly darker shade. Everything looked old and Victorian, which Mary reminded herself it was. There was electric light though. When her father had had electricity installed in the house, he had not forgotten a single room. Mary looked at Matthew, whose expression mirrored how she felt about the room.

"We won't change anything in here. It's perfect. This will be our home, our sanctuary. We will be so happy here," Mary said. Matthew nodded his agreement.

Mary sat down at the dressing table and pulled the cover off the mirror. The surface was clean enough and not damaged anywhere. But something about it made her reflection seem somehow softer. She looked at herself and imagined sitting there plaiting her hair, Matthew waiting in bed for her. She felt a warm contentment inside her as she thought that this daydream would come true in a few short weeks.

"What are you thinking, my darling?" asked Matthew softly.

"Imagining you waiting for me in that bed, watching me brush and plait my hair. Imagining getting up and going to you, then closing the curtains behind me so it is only me and you. Imagining going to sleep every night and waking up every morning in your arms," she said, her voice low and seductive. She drove Matthew mad with love and longing.

"Shall we see what it is like now?" asked Matthew.

"What do you mean?"

"See what it's like on the bed with the curtains closed so it's just you and me. Come on Mary."

"You're being ridiculous. Nobody's been in that bed for years. There are no sheets on it, and it will be all dusty. Anyway, we've been here a long time. They might start to wonder where we are." Mary was trying to be sensible, although the idea of being alone with Matthew behind those dark red curtains was appealing.

"Let them wonder," said Matthew, reaching out a hand for Mary to come to him by the bed. She couldn't resist him. She went. She reached him, then stopped, realising she wasn't sure how to lift him onto the bed. She'd seen Isobel and Sybil do it easily; there was obviously a knack to it that she didn't know.

"I can't… I don't know how to…" she began. Matthew understood and felt embarrassed for making her uncomfortable.

"God, I forgot. I'm sorry, darling, it doesn't matter."

"No, I want to. You persuaded me. Don't disappoint me now. Just tell me what to do."

Matthew sighed. He wanted to be on that bed with Mary so much, but the thought of her lifting him made him uncomfortable. And he didn't really want to be out of his chair with her. He felt so helpless when he wasn't in it, unable to move around properly, dependent on other people to lift him back into his chair if he wanted to go anywhere. But Mary wanted to be with him, and he wanted to be with her, and if they were to marry and share a bed, he must become accustomed to her seeing him out of his chair.

"Put your arms under mine, and I'll hold on to you," he instructed her. "Yes, that's right. Now on the count of three, lift me. Then turn around and sit me on the bed. Don't do it if I'm too heavy, I don't want you to hurt yourself. Maybe it was a silly idea anyway."

"No. If Sybil can manage, so can I," she insisted.

"If you're sure."

"Certain."

"One… two… three…"

Mary lifted him. He was heavy, but she gritted her teeth and turned. It was a relief to sit him down on the bed. She had a new respect for Sybil, who made this look easy.

"Are you alright?" Matthew asked her, and Mary realised she was breathing hard.

"Fine," she assured him, "Legs now?"

"Yes. That should be easier."

She lifted his legs up onto the bed. He lay down and groaned quietly.

"Are you alright?" she asked worriedly, "Did I do it wrong, did I hurt you?"

"No, you did fine."

"Then…?"

"It wasn't you. It's just… I'm always in pain, Mary. Moving makes it worse, but it feels much better lying down. I'm fine."

"Where hurts? Your back?" she asked, wishing there was something she could do to help.

Matthew sighed. This wasn't something he talked about. "Yes. Just above where I lose sensation. And my shoulders from pushing myself about. But like I said, I'm fine. Come on."

Mary got on the bed and closed all the curtains, sending small clouds of dust floating around the room. The curtains turned the white daylight red, making it seem as if they were in another world.

"This is wonderful," Mary breathed, lying down next to Matthew. He murmured agreement.

"Turn on your side, facing away from me," she told him.

"Why?" he inquired.

"Just do it."

He obeyed with difficulty, his movements awkward. He wondered what Mary wanted. Then he felt her pull his shirt out from his trousers and slip her hand up inside it. She ran her hand up and down his back, being careful not to go beyond where he lost sensation. It felt glorious.

Then her hand paused over his scar. He stiffened when he hand touched the area of roughened skin. He'd never seen it, but he knew it well; in the past few months he had quite often reached behind and felt it. He knew that just under the skin was the broken bone and severed cord that had changed his life so dramatically, and he had a morbid fascination with touching it, then moving his hand further down his back where he could no longer feel anything. He wasn't sure he wanted Mary touching him there; he was sure it was horribly ugly. But at the same time, her hand being there, so gentle and so soft, was wonderful. She touched him in a way he had not been touched since… when?

Since Sybil's ball in London in 1914, he supposed. When he and Mary had escaped from the crowded ballroom and almost run to the empty little room at the end of the corridor that served as Roberts' study, and stared at each other, breathless, partly from running and partly from desire for each other. Then they had almost fallen into each other's arms and kissed more passionately than they had ever done before. Their hands had roamed to places that were not proper even for a couple who were engaged, never mind a couple who were… not quite engaged. But he had been so sure that she would eventually accept his proposal, and they were so in love. And the knowledge that they were breaking rules made it more exciting.

And even while they were happily together like that, Mary had been haunted by the ghost of that bastard Pamuk. If he were not already dead, Matthew would have killed him.

Since that night, he had not felt that sweet loving touch. They had been carefully watched for the rest of the time they were in London. Then they had fought. Then he had run away to war. Lavinia he had kissed chastely a few times, but she had never touched him like Mary had. And since he had come back from the war, it seemed as if people were touching him all the time, washing him, lifting him, doing everything he couldn't do for himself. But there was no emotion in that touch. It was cold and necessary and medical. Even the massages, pleasant though they had been, had been not a minute longer than the nurse deemed necessary.

And now Mary was touching his broken body with the same love and care she had touched him that time in the study.

Mary looked at the dark bruise under her hand. It looked painful. ' _I'm always in pain Mary.'_ She felt a lump in her throat. She hadn't known. She had never asked. Because he never complained, she had assumed there would be little pain, considering he couldn't feel anything below that area. Now she thought about it, she remembered him shifting himself uncomfortably in his chair. She remembered the times he had gone to bed early, saying he was tired. She searched her memory for more clues, and decided he hid it so well, even she, who watched him constantly even when she didn't mean to be, hadn't noticed.

She stared at the bruise and felt the thickened, rough skin under her fingers. She hated it for what it had done to Matthew. She hated what this scar meant, what pain, emotional and physical, it had caused the man she loved. But at the same time, she loved it, because it was a part of his body, and she loved every inch of him, and always would. She knew what he thought of his body now, but she knew that nothing would ever change the simple fact that she loved him and that his body would always be a source of fascination for her.

"Does it hurt if I touch you here?" she asked softly.

"No," he answered, although it did a little. He simply couldn't bear it if she stopped.

"Tell me if it does," she said, and began to massage his back, precisely where the pain was. It hurt, but after a while, it began to relieve the pain, and he sighed with relief, relaxing completely. Mary smiled to herself at his obvious pleasure in what she was doing. After a while, she moved to his shoulders, which were tense and painful, the muscle knotted from overuse and fatigue. They slowly relaxed as she massaged them carefully but firmly. The pain wasn't gone altogether, but Matthew felt better than he had since he was injured, except for when he had been dosed up on morphine. Mary carried on, and began to hum a tune Matthew quickly recognised as 'If you were the only girl in the world'. He started to sing the words quietly in his fine voice.

"It really feels as if we really are the only people in the world in here," Mary whispered as Matthew continued to sing. She joined in with the chorus.

They sang the song several times together, having completely lost track of time and forgotten about the world outside their little sanctuary.

It was lunchtime though, and Mary had been right, the rest of the family were wondering what on earth was taking them so long.

"Sybil darling, go and find them and tell them they'll miss luncheon if they don't come now," Cora said irritably.

Sybil knocked on the door that led to the rooms, then opened it when she received no answer. She walked into the sitting room and couldn't see them.

"Mary? Matthew? Where are you?" she called quietly. Yet again nobody answered. Then she heard the faint noise of singing, voices she recognised as Mary and Matthew's. They were singing the same song they had sung that night at the concert, when everyone thought Matthew was missing, and he turned up in the room when Mary was halfway through singing 'If you were the only girl in the world'. Sybil smiled as she remembered the love and relief in Mary's eyes when she saw Matthew walking towards her after thinking that he was quite possibly dead.

Sybil cautiously followed the sound into the bedroom and saw Matthew's empty wheelchair and the closed curtains. She smiled and was reluctant to disturb them, but knew she must.

"Mary, Matthew, it's lunchtime. Sorry to disturb you. Mama sent me to find you," she said.

On the other side of the curtains, they both jumped, suddenly jolted back to reality by Sybil's voice. Mary helped Matthew tuck his shirt back in, then sat up and opened the curtains.

"Sorry, we forgot the time and we…" Mary found she couldn't explain exactly what had made them want to be behind those curtains.

"It's quite alright. Mama's fussing, but you know what she's like. Anyway, I'll leave you now and tell Mama you're on your way. Unless you want my help…?"

"No, we can manage, thank you," said Mary. Sybil nodded and left.

Mary went back to Matthew and helped him sit up, then lifted him back into his chair, finding it easier this time now she knew what she was doing. She pushed Matthew out of the bedroom towards where everyone was waiting for them for lunch.

"I think there's very little to do there," Matthew said.

"Yes," Mary agreed, "I think we could marry very soon. I see no reason to wait."

"Nor me."

They relayed this information to Robert over luncheon, and he smiled indulgently. Cora was less pleased, but kept quiet. She had had enough of arguments, and had decided that the best policy would be to show her displeasure with silence.

But Mary really did look happy. It crossed Cora's mind for the first time that she might be wrong about what was best for her daughter. Mary and Matthew did look so right together.

But no. Of course they were happy together now; they had been in love for years. It was Mary's long term happiness she worried about. Mary deserved so much, whatever mistakes she had made in the past. Cora didn't know where she was going to find a suitable husband for Mary now. But Sir Richard had still not published, and perhaps there was someone who would be willing to dismiss cruel gossip. Evelyn Napier perhaps? He and Mary had not got on brilliantly before the war. But they had been friendly, and Evelyn was a nice man, unlikely to pay any heed to rumours. Perhaps…?

Or there was America, the original plan for Mary after she had broken with Sir Richard.

But as she watched Mary and Matthew over lunch, she doubted her powers of persuasion were up to the task. It was blindingly obvious that Mary loved Matthew, and she did not love Evelyn Napier or any other man. And somehow, Mary always seemed to get what she wanted, eventually. Cora had hoped for the support of her mother in law, but it was clear she was not going to get that. She was on her own in this, and she feared she was fighting a losing battle.

 _ **I hope everyone is enjoying the story. Sorry to repeat myself, but I would really like to know how detailed you would like the wedding night to be, because I know there are very different opinions about things like that, and I don't want to disappoint anyone, or put anyone off. Thank you!**_


	12. Chapter 12

As the wedding preparation began, Cora threw herself into the traditional duties of the mother of the bride, going to wedding dress fittings and having lengthy and serious discussions about flowers, avoiding thinking about the wedding she was preparing for. She had tried to speak to Mary on several occasions, to persuade her that she was making a mistake, and that it wasn't too late to change her mind. On every occasion, Mary simply gave her a withering stare, worthy of her grandmother, and pronounced that there was nothing anyone or anything could do to prevent her and Matthew from marrying.

And slowly, Cora began to doubt herself. She watched Mary laughing as she had not laughed since she was a child. She watched her being nice to Edith. She watched her touching and kissing Matthew at every opportunity. The cold, unfeeling Lady Mary Crawley of the past seemed to be gone, along with the quiet, frightened Mary who had been engaged to Sir Richard Carlisle, leaving a vibrant, beautiful young woman. Cora had thought this Mary was long gone, but Matthew had brought her back. Maybe, just maybe, they would be alright together.

* * *

In the midst of all the excitement of the wedding preparation, William came back. He was now fully recovered and looked healthier than he had since before he left for France. He and Daisy were given a fairly large room to share, to finally begin to live properly as man and wife.

It was only William himself and Daisy that knew that although they might sleep in the same bed, they would not quite live together properly as man and wife. This rather dampened William's mood as he walked down the familiar corridor downstairs. He was also a little disappointed that there was nobody there to greet him when he arrived. He told himself they would all be busy, that he had no reason to expect a welcome party. But even so, he had hoped that Daisy at least would have been there waiting for him.

He thought they had been getting closer in the past few weeks, when Daisy would come to the farm every week on her half day off. They had spent so many happy hours talking and laughing, and she had even seemed to be looking forward to their living together. He had begun to let himself hope that she might be beginning to feel something more than fondness for him. But even she was not here. He walked slowly to the servants' hall, wondering at the perfect stillness and silence; it was never silent around the kitchen, with Mrs Patmore's scolding and shouting, and the corridors were usually busy with maids hurrying up and down them with sheets or tea trays. But there was nobody there.

He walked into the servants' hall feeling confused and dejected.

Then he almost cried out as what seemed like every servant in the house said, 'Welcome home William!' in unison, and cheered and clapped. He stood there stupidly for a few seconds, then looked about for the person who mattered to him most in the world. His eyes found her on the other side of the table, watching him with such joy in her eyes, William almost wanted to sing. He stepped forwards, and she suddenly rushed around the table and flung her arms around him. He was surprised, but so pleased, he almost felt as if he were in a dream. It could hardly have mattered less that they had an audience.

Eventually, though, Mr Carson cleared his throat loudly. He was not cross; in fact, he was glad to see the young people happy. But really, it was not quite appropriate in the servants' hall.

William released Daisy reluctantly, but was soon busy greeting everyone else.

There was still dinner to serve, however, and it was not until much later that the proper party began. There was cake, and Lord Grantham had even given them permission to open a few bottles of champagne (not the finest in the wine cellar, but better than most of the servants had had before). William played the piano for the first time in years, and there was dancing. Then one of the maids took over the music, and William was free to dance with Daisy.

They danced for what seemed like hours, looking into each other's eyes lovingly. Daisy thought she had never felt happier, and it was William who was making her feel like this. Perhaps this joyfulness and delight in his company, his touch and his voice, was love. There were songs and poems and stories about love, she knew, and what she felt now certainly seemed worth writing and singing about.

They had decided to sleep in the same bed, but do nothing else. But when they finally did go upstairs, after Mr Carson had decreed that it was time they all retired for the night, that seemed like the silliest decision they had ever made. Daisy was almost glowing with her newly recognised love, and the sight of her in her nightdress set William on fire with love and desire.

They stood next to the bed, suddenly awkward, neither wanting to suggest anything in case the other was not thinking the same. Daisy looked shyly up at her husband from under her eyelashes, trying to guess what he would want her to do. She took a tentative step towards him. This was all the encouragement William needed, and he opened his arms to her and pulled her close to him, so she could hear his heart beating, fast and excited. She tilted her head up and he kissed her sweet little mouth, the first proper kiss they had ever shared. Daisy had never guessed that kissing could be so wonderful, so exciting, so perfect. Somehow, she knew what to do, and parted her lips slightly to allow William's tongue to enter it.

But after a few seconds, they both drew away slowly, and were suddenly a little embarrassed. They stared at each other for a minute, then Daisy looked away. William felt suddenly guilty. He had promised her he would not force her into anything, and yet already, he had kissed her, and his body was reacting in a way which was beyond his control. He had thought she wanted it, but then, he had thought she loved him when they married; clearly he was not good at reading her feelings. He had to control himself.

Neither of them knew what to do now. It had seemed a simple enough idea in theory to share a bed without doing anything else. But now, the situation was suddenly awkward. They stood still and silent, both unable even to raise their eyes.

Then William forced a smile and looked up at Daisy.

"Well, it's getting late. Shall we... go to sleep?" he said stiffly.

Daisy nodded mutely and they both lay down.

"Shall I turn the light out?" William asked when they were both settled.

"Yes. Goodnight William," Daisy replied. William switched off the light and they lay there in the dark, neither of them wanting to be the first to move even though they were both lying unnaturally stiffly on their backs.

William wanted to cry. He had known this would be difficult, to be so close to the woman he loved, and yet so far from her. She was so close, he could have reached out and touched her, touched every inch of her. He was painfully aware of her tiny waist and little breasts, free and soft and unbound by the corset she wore during the day. But he couldn't touch her. They had agreed, and he would honour his promise. It was the least he could do after what she had done for him.

Daisy was horribly confused. She had been so grateful to William for not claiming what was his right as her husband, out of consideration for her. She had hoped for a lifelong friendship and companionship with him. But now, after the dancing and the kissing, she didn't know what she wanted. The kiss had woken a part of her she had not known existed, and now she didn't know what to do. She wanted William to kiss her again. She wanted to feel his arms around her and feel his soft lips on hers. And she wanted more.

But they had agreed. And she couldn't tell William that she had changed her mind now. She didn't trust her own feelings, since they seemed to have changed so dramatically recently. She didn't know what she was feeling now. Was it love? She thought it was, but how could she know? She hadn't felt it before.

The room was not warm, and she shivered. William immediately forced his mind away from his worries and looked at her.

"Daisy?" he whispered, "Are you cold?"

"A bit," she replied.

"Will you… would you like to come here, and I'll hold you and keep you warm?" William asked.

Daisy slowly shuffled over to him, and William opened his arms to her. He held her tightly, yet gently, and they were both soon asleep.

William woke up happy the next morning, with Daisy's weight on his chest proving that she liked him at least enough for them to be this close. It was far from what he wanted, but it was so much more than he had dared to hope for. Perhaps, in the future, they might get closer to each other, and perhaps, she could love him, even half as much as he loved her.

He did not have the luxury of lying around in bed like this, as he would have liked; both he and Daisy had work to do, and as soon as she was awake, they both rose and dressed self-consciously, not speaking or looking at each other more than was necessary. When she was dressed, Daisy gave him a quick, shy smile, then left to begin her day's work, lighting the fires. William followed not long after to begin his working day.

Bates instructed William on everything he needed to know, and that evening, he took up his duties as Matthew's valet. Although so much time had passed and so much had changed, they soon fell back into the easy friendship they had shared in the trenches.

* * *

The month before the wedding flew by, and it seemed to come as a shock to everyone when one morning, Mary reminded them at breakfast that it was only a week until the wedding.

Although this made Matthew joyful and excited, he also began to worry. He worried about trivial things, like whether he and Mary would look silly at the altar, with him sitting and having to look up at his bride. What would he do when asked to kiss the bride? Mary would have to bend down to him, he supposed. And what would happen when it was time for them to open the dancing at the party afterwards? Should Mary dance with somebody else, or should everyone begin dancing at the same time?

But his worst worry was still that Mary didn't know what she was taking on. She had said she was certain, and in that moment he had believed her, but did she know what she was certain of? Had she really thought it through? She would be tied to him for the rest of their lives, and did she realise how helpless he really was? Did she realise how difficult it would be to travel, if it was even possible, which was something he hadn't even thought about until now. Nobody had mentioned a honeymoon, they had simply assumed it wasn't possible.

Suddenly Matthew remembered the fact that he hadn't even been out in a car since he had been brought to Downton Abbey months ago on a stretcher. The wedding would be the first time he'd left the house and gardens. He panicked suddenly, wondering if his wheelchair would even fit in the car.

He worried like this all day, and the next day, when Isobel came up to the house to discuss something with Cora, he managed to get some time alone with her to unload all his concerns. Isobel addressed each worry practically and sensibly.

"I promise you that you won't look silly at the altar. Everyone there will know you both anyway, they'll all be close friends and family.

"When you are asked to kiss her, Mary can sit on your lap. I've walked in on you two like that at least twice in the last three weeks.

"At the party, everyone can start dancing together. If Mary wishes to, which I doubt, there will be plenty of men to partner her.

"As to whether she understands everything, I would think she does, considering the amount of time she spent in the hospital when you were first injured. But even so, I have been meaning to talk to her and explain... everything she needs to know. So you don't need to worry about that either. And there's no reason you won't be able to travel in a car or on a train in the future. I'm sure you'll deal with that when the time comes.

"You are right though, you do need to at least go out once before the wedding. I'm sure William and Branson can find a way between them of strapping your chair to the car, but they do need to do it before the wedding, that is true. I think the best thing would be for you to come to visit me tomorrow. Mary could come too, and I'll talk to her about what we spoke of earlier. Now, will you stop worrying! Every man seems to be like this before his wedding, and I don't see why. In a week, you'll be married to the woman you have loved for what, six years? If that's not a reason to cheer up, I don't know what would be!" Isobel said.

Matthew felt much calmer then, and thanked his mother, before going to tell Mary about what he planned to do the next day. She thought it was a sensible idea, and immediately went to inform William and Branson.

Branson and William succeeded in finding a way of strapping the wheelchair to the car that afternoon, although it did mean that Matthew had to spend an hour with no means of getting about. He sat on the sofa in the library, and he and Mary read poetry to each other. They sat closer than was really proper, but since Cora was busy and Robert was in an indulgent mood, nobody reprimanded them. It was wonderful to be able to be close without Matthew's wheelchair getting in the way, and Matthew enjoyed the sense of normality that sitting on a normal chair produced.

The next day they set off for Isobel's house. William sat with Branson in the front, coming to help Matthew in and out of the car. Mary and Matthew sat in the back, holding hands, but not wanting to be any more intimate with Branson able to see them in the mirror. But as soon as they began to move, jolting around on the poor roads, Mary saw that Matthew was uncomfortable. She slipped her arm around him to keep him a little steadier, and he smiled at her gratefully. It made him feel a little pathetic that he needed her support, but at the same time, he was glad, because there was no way Mary would have displayed this level of intimacy without good reason with the two servants sitting in the front.

It felt better than he had ever imagined to be out again. He had felt rather like a prisoner, stuck at Downton Abbey for so long, seeing no further than the gardens. The rolling countryside seemed even more beautiful and picturesque than it had seemed when he had last seen it, months ago. The village looked exactly the same as it had when he had last seen it. It had become as familiar and as dear to him as Manchester had ever been, despite that fact he had only lived there for a few short years, and many of them had been spent mostly at war.

When they arrived, Branson and William went to unstrap the wheelchair from the car. William brought it round and lifted Matthew into it. By this time, Isobel, who had heard the car, was standing in the doorway smiling. Matthew wheeled himself to the door, and Mary helped him get his chair up the doorstep. Isobel ushered them in. She smiled her thanks to William and Branson and told them that they would find tea and one of Mrs Bird's freshly-baked chocolate cakes in the kitchen.

Isobel was so glad to have her son visiting her after such a long time. It made her so happy to see him out of the house, and he looked so well and so happy, there were moments when she could forget about his disability completely. And all of this was Mary's doing. Mary, whom she had disliked almost from the first time she had met her. Now she was finally beginning to see the strong, brave, wonderful woman Matthew had loved for so long, and she felt almost guilty for not recognising her before.

After talking for a while and having tea, Isobel sent Matthew to his old study to read while she talked to Mary alone.

As Isobel had suspected, Mary understood most of what she would need to do to care for Matthew well enough from the time she had spent at the hospital with him, but not everything. Isobel gently explained about pressure sores and physiotherapy and everything else Mary needed to know. Mary sat quietly, nodding, her lips pressed together. She had understood that it would not be simple, but as Isobel talked, she began to feel rather daunted. She had known vaguely, somewhere in the back of her mind, that Matthew's life expectancy was not high. But she had not quite appreciated how vulnerable he was to illness. A cold could lead to pneumonia, lying in the same position or sitting too long could lead to pressure sores, which were notoriously slow to heal and which could so easily become infected.

Isobel saw Mary's worried expression and smiled reassuringly.

"You'll be alright, I promise. It's not as if you'll be in the house alone. William knows what he's doing, and Sybil's a trained nurse. I have great confidence in you, Mary. You'll manage," she said kindly.

Mary smiled weakly, hoping Isobel was right.

"Shall we go and find him?" asked Isobel. Mary nodded.

They found Matthew in his old study, a small room which had been full of books and papers, but which was now almost empty. He was reading a book when they entered the room, and he looked rather embarrassed when he caught Mary's eye. Clearly he knew what they had been talking about.

"We should get back. We don't want to miss luncheon," Mary said.

"Stay for lunch here. Mrs Bird always has something. You can telephone and tell them you won't be back," Isobel said.

Mary accepted, and Isobel went to inform Mrs Bird.

There was an awkward silence, then Matthew said,

"I know what Mother wanted to talk to you about. Do you understand why I'm reluctant to tie you to me for the rest of your life now? It's not too late to call off the wedding."

He looked so worried, Mary went over to him and leaned down to kiss him. She laughed at his look of surprise when she drew back.

"You can't get rid of me that easily," she said gently. "I love you. That's all that matters. We can make things work. We'll be alright."

He pulled her down onto his lap.

"You," he whispered, "are the most magnificent woman on this earth." He was about to kiss her when they heard Isobel's footsteps coming towards the study. Mary stood up and straightened her skirt, but not before Isobel had come in.

Isobel smiled to herself and pretended she hadn't noticed.

They ate a delicious lunch of chicken and ham pie and discussed the wedding, although Mary wouldn't say a word about her dress.

"You'll find out what it looks like in the church, and not before," she insisted.

After eating, they left to go back to Downton Abbey. Although he badly wanted Mary's arm around him, Matthew insisted on sitting without her support, saying that he wouldn't have Mary with him on the way to the wedding and needed to be able to do this himself. By the time they were home, his shoulders and back were in no small amount of pain, and he was tired. He said nothing to Mary, however, not wanting her to worry.

She knew him well though, and saw the way he gritted his teeth as William lifted him out of the car, and the awkward way he was sitting in his chair. She took him straight to his room and helped him onto the bed, ignoring his insistence that he was fine. However much he hated going to bed in the afternoon, it was still a relief to lie down. Mary settled him on his side with a pillow between his knees, then lay down next to him and began to massage his shoulders.

"I'm not sure how much of a party we'll have if I'm in this state when we get here after the wedding," he said miserably.

"I though you said you were fine," she reminded him teasingly, although she was thinking the same thing. She should have thought of this earlier and made him go out weeks ago. "Don't worry about it. I'm sure it will be better next time. There's still time to go out again before the wedding. Just relax for now. We've got until dinner. Sleep if you want."

He shook his head, but before long he closed his eyes and fell asleep. Mary carefully got up, thinking that her family might be wondering where they were, and knowing that her parents would not approve of them lying in bed together before they were married. She found her mother embroidering cushion covers with Edith, and asked where Sybil was.

"She went for a walk, I think," Edith informed her. Mary went outside to look for Sybil to see if she had a way of making travel easier for Matthew.

* * *

Sybil walked into the garage, where Tom was fiddling with the engine of one of the cars. She crept up behind him, then said 'hello' right in his ear. He jumped and almost cried out, then laughed when he saw who it was.

"This is a nice surprise. How did you escape?" he asked.

"Mary and Matthew disappeared together again as soon as they got home, Papa's with Travis and Mama and Edith are busy with their embroidery. There's nobody to notice I'm not around. I said I was going for a walk, which is true; I walked here. I hope I'm not disturbing your work."

"No. I'm just trying to pass the time without seeming lazy. There's not much to do really. Nothing's broken or dirty and nobody wants to go out."

There was a pause. Then Sybil said quickly,

"I have my answer. The wedding next week, well it's made me feel that the war really is over, and that it's time to move on. I know what I want. I'm ready. I'm ready to travel, and you're my ticket."

Tom stared at her stupidly.

"Me?" he asked, not believing his ears.

"No, Uncle Tom Cobley," she said, laughing at the terrified expression on his face when she teased him. He laughed too.

"I'm sorry. But I've waited so long for those words, I can't believe I'm hearing them," he said, still hardly able to believe this was happening. "You won't mind burning your bridges?" he asked more seriously.

"Mind?" she replied, "Fetch me the matches!"

He leaned in to kiss her.

"Yes, you can kiss me. But that is all until everything is settled," she said.

"For now, God knows, it's enough that I can kiss you!" he said happily, and kissed her passionately.

Sybil had never felt as happy as she felt in that moment, and knew then that whatever the price, she had made the right decision. She kissed him back, knowing instinctively what to do, even though this was her first proper kiss. They stayed like this, oblivious to the world around them until Tom looked up and broke away, his eyes wide with shock and fear. Sybil turned to see what he was looking at. Mary was standing in the doorway, her expression a precise imitation of their grandmother's disapproving look.

"How… how long have you been here?" stammered Sybil, clutching Tom's hand.

"Long enough," Mary replied. "I gather you've made your decision then."

"She knew?" Tom asked Sybil, shocked. "You told her?"

"She guessed, and I didn't lie," Sybil replied shortly. "She's on our side, Tom."

Tom looked from Sybil to Mary and back incredulously.

"When are you planning on telling everyone," Mary asked coldly, "before or after my wedding?"

"After, I suppose. We haven't discussed it. I've only just made up my mind," Sybil replied.

"And do you have a plan?" Mary asked, turning to Tom. "You won't be able to stay here once people know. Will you be able to get another job?"

Tom flushed with anger at the suggestion that he might marry without having a plan and without being able to support his wife.

"I've got a friend who'll get me a job as a journalist in Dublin, mi' lady. We can leave as soon as we're ready."

Mary nodded.

"Will you marry here or in Ireland?" she asked.

"It depends on whether Papa can be persuaded into giving his consent, and coming to the wedding. If he won't, we'll run away to Ireland. You would all be invited, of course. It won't be me who cuts myself off from you," Sybil said defiantly.

"He'll never give his consent. Nobody could persuade him that this is a good idea. I'm not sure _I'm_ persuaded it's a good idea. I'll support you when you tell him, of course, but I doubt I'll be much help." Mary stopped and thought for a while, then said, "I know I was sworn to secrecy, but may I tell Matthew? I promise you, if anyone will support you, it will be him, and he has some influence with Papa."

Sybil looked at Tom, who shrugged.

"I suppose so. I trust him. Yes, you may tell him. Perhaps you're right. Papa does listen to him, and I've never met anyone so good at arguing, even you," Sybil said, and Mary smiled.

"You'll have to come back to the house to change now, Sybil," Mary said, and nodded to Tom before leaving the garage. Sybil squeezed Tom's hand, then followed her sister.

"What were you doing there anyway?" Sybil asked after a while.

"Looking for you. I had a suspicion that you would be there."

"What did you want me for?" Sybil asked, intrigued. Mary didn't often come looking for her.

"You know Matthew and me went to see Cousin Isobel this morning," Mary began, and Sybil nodded. "It's the first time Matthew's been out properly since… before. It's only a few miles, no time at all in the car really, but he's tired and his back and shoulders hurt. I made him go to bed as soon as we got home. Judging by today, he won't be in any fit state for the party after the wedding. What can I do?"

Sybil thought for a minute.

"I'm not sure there is much you can do. I suppose he could take something for the pain, but that would just make him more tired. You won't have to stay late at the party, people will understand. You should go out again before the wedding though. Maybe it will get easier."

By this time they had reached the house, and seeing from the clock in the hall that they had missed the dressing gong, they rushed upstairs.

Anna was waiting for her when Mary got to her room.

"Sorry Anna. I lost track of the time."

"Don't worry, you're only a couple of minutes late. How was your visit to Mrs Crawley?"

Mary sighed before replying.

"She talked to me about… looking after Matthew. Oh Anna, I knew it wouldn't be easy, but there's so much to do and so much to worry about. What if I just can't do it? What if I do something wrong and he gets ill? He's lucky he's been this healthy so far. He could get an infection any day, and he might not be strong enough to fight it. I don't know anything about nursing, I'm not like Sybil. What if he got ill and it was my fault? I could never forgive myself," she said worriedly.

"Mary, calm down. He's managed without you until now. He doesn't need a nurse, he needs you, in the same way you need him. Of course he might get sick, but you can't go through life worrying about what might happen. Lady Sybil is a trained nurse, and she'll always be here. Mrs Crawley is a very competent and experienced nurse. And Dr Clarkson is a good doctor. You don't need to worry," Anna said firmly. Her words reassured Mary a little.

"I'm worried about the wedding day as well. Matthew was tired and in quite a lot of pain by the time we got back, and it was almost exactly the same distance as the distance to the church. I don't want him to be in that state on our wedding day, but I can't see that there's anything we can do. It's my fault, I should have though to make him go out sooner. There's hardly any time left now."

"He'll be alright, Mary. He survived the war, I think he should manage a short journey in a car."

Mary was pleasantly surprised when she went downstairs to see that the sleep had done Matthew good, and he looked much better than he had when they had arrived back. She went straight over to him.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"I'm fine. Don't fuss."

"I'm almost your wife, Matthew, I'm allowed to worry about you."

"You don't need to. I promise, I'm fine."

Mary nodded, but she watched him closely at dinner. To her relief, he did seem to be fine.

They went out every day until the day before the wedding, once more to Isobel's house and the other days just driving around the countryside. Sybil and Edith joined them once, but although their company was pleasant, Mary and Matthew missed their privacy. Each day, Matthew was less tired, and was able to properly enjoy the rides around the countryside and to look forward to the wedding. Mary stopped worrying, and became more and more excited about the wedding. The house was now full of family and friends, and everything was ready.

* * *

"More brandy? To drink to your last night as a bachelor?" Robert asked Matthew, pouring before Matthew had a chance to answer. They were in the dining room after dinner, and the ladies had gone through, leaving them to their spirits and cigars. There had been a suggestion that Matthew have a bachelor party, but he couldn't face it, not with so many of the people he would have wanted with him dead. So it was just him and Robert having their usual drinks after dinner.

Robert looked hard at his almost son in law. "You're nervous," he observed with a smile.

"Yes, I am. More than is logical, really, considering that tomorrow is likely to be the happiest day of my life."

"Every man is nervous before his wedding. I think I just drank so much, I was hardly sufficiently aware of what was going on to be properly nervous. But you're marrying for love, Matthew, and I know you will both be very happy. Really, you can have no concept of how pleased I am for you. This has been my dearest wish for so many years, it seems almost like a dream that it is really happening tomorrow."

"If it were a dream, I wouldn't be stuck in this damned thing," Matthew said, gesturing to his wheelchair. "If it were a dream, I would be able to walk down the aisle, carry my wife across the threshold and dance with her. If it were a dream, you could look forward to grandchildren and an heir at some point in the future." He looked away from Robert, unable to bear the look he guessed he would see in the older man's eyes if he did look: sadness and pity and disappointment and other emotions the father of the bride should not be feeling the night before his daughter's wedding.

But if Matthew had looked, he would not have seen this. Whatever had changed in the years since Robert had first dreamed of his daughter and his heir marrying, the fundamental fact that they belonged together would never change. The issue of the heir was separate from two people who loved each other finally finding happiness together.

"You are right, Matthew. If this were a dream, you would be perfectly fit and healthy. In fact, in my dream, the war would not have happened at all. But that would be a dream, and this is real, and this is therefore so much better than any dream I could possibly have."

Matthew dared to look at Robert, and saw from his eyes that every word he spoke was the truth.

"You don't know how much it means to me to hear you say that, Robert."

"I say it because it is true. You will make a fine husband for Mary, and in the future, the two of you will make a fine Earl and Countess."

"Mary will be perfect. But it will take more of a man than I am now to follow you, Robert. I was not born to this life, and now, I am a pathetic cripple. I can't do anything without help, and it's never going to get any better. It's only recently that I have even been able to see that I have a life at all now, and I suppose that is thanks to Mary. But the truth is, it will be a life lived stuck in a wheelchair. I can't even get to most of the rooms in what will one day be my house for goodness sake."

Robert felt dangerously close to tears, and was angry with himself.

"Please, don't call yourself a cripple. What you are is my heir and soon, my son in law. You are Matthew Crawley, a clever, competent man. You are a good lawyer and you will be a wonderful husband."

"Thank you for your faith in me. I will strive to be worthy of it. I am sorry for talking so gloomily on the eve of my wedding. I am excited and unutterably happy to be marrying Mary. I only wish that… that I could be a proper husband to her. She deserves so much more than I can ever give her."

"What you both deserve is each other. I don't pretend your life will be easy; you will have more than your fair share of problems and difficulties. But together, you will overcome them, of that I am sure. And, erm, as to being a proper husband to Mary, I don't know what experience you have or what you know, but, well, one does not need… a certain part of one's anatomy in order to, erm, make one's wife… very happy," Robert said hesitantly. He did not feel exactly comfortable with this subject, but for Matthew and Mary's sake, he felt that he had said the right thing.

Matthew nodded, equally embarrassed. It was not that he though badly of Robert for saying that, or for showing concern for that aspect of his marriage. In fact, if it had not been so awkward, he would have asked more about it. He just hated the fact that everyone knew about those particular implications of his injury. But then, what did that matter in truth? He knew that he was marrying Mary because he believed that he could make her happy. They would be happy, he would do all he could to ensure that they would be.

"Shall we go through to the ladies?" Robert asked, cutting across Matthew's thoughts. "I fear if we stay much longer, I shall end up with a sore head tomorrow morning, which I do not want on such an important day."

"Yes, alright," Matthew replied, and they went to join the ladies in the drawing room.

* * *

That night, Mary hardly slept at all. It felt as if her whole life had been leading up to this. After all the years she had loved Matthew, they were finally going to be together. This, she hoped, was the last night she would sleep alone. She had been kept apart from Matthew for so long, she intended never to be apart from him again.

She had to keep telling herself that it was real, that happiness was so close. She still couldn't believe Richard hadn't published her story yet. He was incomprehensible. After the humiliation of his last night at Downton, she had been so sure she would be ruined. Yet as each day went by without the worst happening, it began to seem less and less likely that he would publish.

She looked about the room that had been hers since she had left the nursery and been deemed old enough to have a proper bedroom. It now felt empty and sad, with everything she still wanted having been moved downstairs. This room which had seen so much of her life, no longer felt like hers.

It was here she had dreamed of the future when she was young, imagining being the Countess of Grantham, mistress of the house and estate, carefully avoiding thinking about Patrick, who would her means of getting all of this. It was here she had read and re-read all her cards and letters after her first season, imaging for the first time what it would be like to be in love. It was here that Kemal Pamuk had come that night in 1913 and here that he had died. It was here she had cried night after night for her lost innocence and her stupidity. It was here she had cried after that awful garden party in 1914. It was here she had prayed for Matthew's safe return, even while her heart was breaking because she knew he would never be hers.

And now she was leaving it, and moving to a new room, where she could make fresh, happy memories, where she could begin her new life.

Matthew was not asleep either. He was incredibly happy and excited, having thought that this day would never come. But at the same time, he was still fighting with his conscience. Was it right for him to do this? Mary was young, beautiful, perfect; could he really say he was doing the right thing, tying her to a cripple for the rest of her life? What would their wedding night be like? He supposed they would just kiss, then go to sleep. He thought about what Robert had said, and about the vague knowledge of anatomy that he had gleaned from his father's medical books many years ago. Perhaps there were things he could try, to give Mary something like a proper wedding night, but it would not, could never be the same. There was so much he wanted to give Mary, she deserved so much more. Matthew began to sink into despair and depression.

Then he remembered Mary's words. 'I love you. I will always love you. That is all there is, all that matters.' Would that be enough? Would love be enough? He thought of all the marriages that took place in the upper classes, marriages based on money, position, duty. He thought of Carlisle, and how close Mary had come to marrying that bastard. He was suddenly certain that they would be alright. Whatever they lacked, their marriage would be based on love, and this gave them the advantage over most couples they knew. He would devote himself to her happiness. They would be alright.

Matthew closed his eyes and eventually went to sleep, thinking as he drifted into sleep that this was the last night he would ever spend alone in this little room. He imagined the warm red glow the curtains of their new bed created when light shone through them, imagined falling asleep with Mary in his arms. Yes, they would make it work.

 _ **Sorry, you're going to have to wait another week for the wedding.**_

 _ **I know everyone says this, but reviews really inspire me to carry on writing, and I value every one.**_


	13. Chapter 13

Matthew awoke with a start at the loud knock on the door. He was immediately wide awake and on guard. It took him a moment to remember that he was safe at home, not in France anymore; he needn't be so startled by noises. He felt his heartbeat begin to slow as he took a few deep breaths to calm himself. It was only William, come to wake him early because… he took a sharp intake of breath. It was his wedding day.

"Come in William," he called, hoping his voice wouldn't betray the panic he'd felt a few seconds ago, and the very real fear and nervousness he felt now he had remembered what day it was. He began to push himself into a sitting position.

William opened the door and came in smiling.

"Good morning sir."

"Morning William," Matthew replied. "And please, I've told you before, don't call me 'sir'. It reminds me too much of… times I would rather not remember. I know you find it strange, but call me Matthew. Surely we are friends enough for that; you're my best man! And you know, Mary told me that Anna calls her just 'Mary', so it's not wrong for you to do the same with me."

William frowned a little for a second, but then nodded in understanding. He could understand any man's wish not to be reminded of the horror of the war any more than was unavoidable. For every man who had survived the trenches, it was on their mind enough as it was.

"Are you nervous sir, I mean, erm, Matthew?" William asked as he found Matthew clothes and brought them over to the bed.

Matthew smiled. "Yes. Very, I'm afraid to say. But more than that, I'm excited."

"I'm very happy for you. Everyone in the house, upstairs and down, has known you and Lady Mary have been in love for years. And you don't need to be nervous. You love each other, and I'm sure you will make each other very happy."

Matthew shifted himself to the edge of the bed and William began to help him dress. Normally, he could do most of it himself, and only needed William to help with his trousers, socks and shoes. But this morning, his hands were shaking, and William had to help with his buttons, cufflinks and tie.

"I don't mean to pry into your private business, William, but are you and Daisy… alright?" Matthew asked suddenly, as he thought of William's expression as he had talked about love and marriage.

William hesitated before answering. The truth was, he wasn't entirely sure what the truth was about him and Daisy. Yes, they were happy enough with each other, or at least, he was and Daisy seemed to be. But Matthew's wedding just made William think how wonderful it would be to marry a woman who loved him. He still hoped that one day, Daisy would come to love him. But until that day came, he would go on living like this, happy to be able to sleep in the same bed as her and to kiss her briefly or hold her hand, but tortured by the fact that however close she was to him physically, she did not love him.

"I am happy enough," he replied eventually. "I only wish… I only wish she loved me." As soon as he had spoken, he cursed himself for blurting it all out. He had not meant to burden Matthew with his problems, especially on his wedding day. It had somehow just come out before he had time to check himself.

"What?" Matthew asked, confused. "Forgive me, but I would have sworn she did love you, however little I know her. Why did she marry you if not for love?"

"When I was first brought back here, and everyone thought I wouldn't make it, she married me to make me happy, to make my last hours and days happy. Because she is fond of me. But that is not the same as love," William said sadly.

Matthew, who was dressed by now, looked hard at William. He did not know Daisy well at all. He had heard a lot about her from William during the war, but he had never really met her. But as he thought about what William had said about Daisy marrying him to make him happy when she had thought he was dying struck him as something she would do because she loved him. And he knew how hard it could be for two people who loved each other very much to let each other know how they felt. God knows, it had taken him and Mary long enough. Was William making a similar mistake?

"Are you so certain that she does not love you, William? Because it sounds to me as if she has acted like someone who loves you very much. Do not make the same mistake as I made for so long and assume you know how she feels. Ask her."

William nodded, but did not allow himself even to hope. It was too much. And besides, today was not his day, it was Matthew and Lady Mary's day. He changed the subject and put his own marriage from his mind for now.

* * *

Robert's heart swelled with pride and joy, as his eldest daughter walked slowly down the stairs, smiling at him. The house had all been decorated and there were flowers everywhere, making it look almost as if they were in some magical garden.

Mary's dress was of the palest creamy colour, almost white, but softer somehow. Her train was spread out behind her, and Robert thought she looked almost like a goddess descending down to earth from some higher place. Although he knew it had been said a hundred times before, Robert thought she looked radiant with happiness.

"Will I do, Carson?" she asked the butler, who was standing behind Robert, equally proud and happy.

"Very nicely, my lady," Carson replied. His eyes were filled with tears of pride. Lady Mary was not his daughter, but since he would never have his own, she was the closest thing he would ever have to one. He had known her since she was a tiny child, had watched her grow from that sweet, funny little girl into a strong, beautiful young woman. He had watched her fall in love with the man he had been willing to dislike for her sake. He had watched her have her heart broken and had comforted her. He had watched her pine for Mr Crawley throughout the war, had watched her be kind to Miss Swire, proving what he knew already: that she was really a far nicer person than she was generally given credit for.

Now she was finally marrying the man she had loved for so long, and she looked so happy, Carson didn't think he could ever be unhappy again. He would be able to savour this memory and remember it whenever he wanted.

Mary reached the bottom of the stairs and Robert went over to her.

"Thank heaven you both finally came to your senses. I thought this day would never come. Are you happy, my darling?" he said.

"I am," she said certainly, "and what about you?"

"I'm so happy, so very happy, I feel my chest will explode," he said. He kissed her cheek gently, took her arm, and they walked towards the open door where the car was waiting to take them to the church.

Matthew was already at the church, waiting nervously. He felt rather embarrassed and conspicuous at the front of the church, however hard William was trying to calm him down. He was glad he had refused to give in about having William as his best man. Nobody approved of giving a servant that honour, even one who had saved his life. But Matthew had insisted, and since he had Mary's support and it was their wedding, nobody could really do anything. It was only William's presence that was keeping him sane.

Then they heard a cheer outside which signalled the bride's arrival. For all they had tried to keep the wedding small and private, there wasn't anything they could do to stop gossip spreading in the village, and it looked as if everyone was out on the streets to celebrate; it was the first big event since the end of the war.

William stood up and looked at Matthew.

"Ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

Matthew turned towards the door, and saw Mary walk in, holding Robert's arm and smiling with pure joy. Matthew thought she had never looked more beautiful, and he could hardly believe that this wonderful woman would finally become his wife in only a few minutes.

When she reached him, she stood next to him and squeezed his hand, and mouthed 'I love you' at him. 'As I love you. You're sure about this?' he mouthed back. 'Certain' she replied.

The service itself was almost unbearably solemn and serious. It seemed to go on forever. They both managed to get through their vows alright, but they weren't really listening; they were too absorbed in each other. Finally, Travis pronounced them man and wife.

"You may kiss the bride," he said.

Matthew pulled Mary down to him gently and kissed her lovingly. He would have kept her there indefinitely, but Mary was more aware of the full church, and drew away when she considered they had kissed for as long as was decent.

"Later," she whispered as she stood up.

Everyone cheered as they left the church together. William lifted Matthew into the waiting car, and for the first time, Matthew didn't care who saw; he could only look at Mary, and he could not see why everyone else wouldn't feel the same. They set off back to Downton Abbey for the party, passing what seemed like hundreds of people who had turned up to see the bride and groom from the big house. They smiled and waved, glad that everyone was sharing their joy. Matthew heard someone shout 'kiss!' and he raised his eyebrows at Mary.

"Well, shall we give them something to talk about?" he asked, smiling broadly. Mary nodded her assent, her heart too full for her to speak. Matthew pulled her closer and kissed her smiling mouth. The crowds cheered even louder, giving voice to the joy in Mary and Matthew's hearts. They drew apart only when it became absolutely necessary to breathe. The cheering had faded a little, and they realised they were out of the village.

They held each other and kissed again, finally able to do it without worrying who saw them.

"Are you happy, my darling?" asked Matthew softly, stroking Mary's face.

"Happier than I've ever been. Are you?"

"How could I fail to be when I look at you and know that you are my wife?"

Mary smiled at him, then buried her face in his shoulder, perfectly content and happy that Matthew was hers now, for the rest of their lives. She didn't see how she could ever be unhappy again. She finally felt safe and secure.

Her whole life she had worried about the future. First she had been going to marry Patrick, whom she did not love. Then Patrick had died, and her future was uncertain; a stranger would inherit what would have been hers by marriage. Then there was Mr Pamuk, and the resulting rumours. Then Matthew had proposed, but she couldn't accept. Then the war had come, and everything changed.

She thought of the seemingly endless days when Matthew was at the front. She had never prayed before, but she had done then, begging God every night to look after him. She remembered the relief and joy when he was on leave, even though he didn't come to Downton; knowing he was safe was enough. She remembered the first time she saw Lavinia. She had wanted to hate the girl, but it was impossible to hate someone so sweet and kind. Even so, it was almost physical pain to her to see them together, knowing it could have been her.

She remembered the horrible, unbearable fear and dread when Matthew was missing. It was only a few days, but she had hardly been able to breathe for worrying. Every night she had dreamed of Matthew's death, and woke up having to supress a scream.

She remembered the incredible joy when he appeared at the back of the room, and the few precious seconds when only she could see him. His wonderful voice singing, 'I would say such wonderful things to you' while looking into her eyes.

Then she thought of the way her heart seemed to stop beating when the telegram arrived in the middle of the night informing them that Matthew was injured, the way her voice broke every time she tried to speak in the days before he arrived in the hospital. She saw in her mind his pale face, scratched and bruised, his eyes closed. She remembered Sybil asking if he had a label. 'Probable spinal injury' it had said, looking so small and smudged and innocent. She remembered washing him when he was unconscious, something she had never imagined herself doing, but which she didn't mind for Matthew.

She remembered Sybil wondering what was wrong with him as they washed the front of his body, and her gasp of shock when they had carefully rolled him and had seen the mess of his back. The skin had been black with bruising and there was a huge cut with pieces of shrapnel stuck in it, which Sybil had not trusted her to help with.

She remembered her confusion and concern when Dr Clarkson had examined him and asked whether he could feel the gentle touches, the firmer pressure and the pinpricks. and Matthew couldn't. She remembered how she had kept calm when Dr Clarkson had explained everything to them, despite the storm that was raging inside her head. She would never forget how he had looked despairingly up at her when she had told him he wouldn't walk again, and how she had somehow managed to keep her composure in front of him, then let herself go when she was alone that night.

She had remained calm and positive as he slowly recovered his strength and came home. She had even managed not to react to Lavinia's return, even though her heart had been breaking quietly. She remembered the long days when she watched Matthew and Lavinia together and dreaded her inevitable marriage to Sir Richard.

Now finally she was safe. She had all she had ever wanted. She lifted her face up and Matthew kissed her again. She found herself wanting to cry, with happiness, sadness and relief. Matthew instinctively understood and didn't question the single tear that escaped and fell down her cheek, instead he kissed it away and held her tighter.

It was almost a disappointment when they reached the house, knowing they had hours of being watched ahead of them before they could be alone together. The servants cheered as they entered the house. They had a few minutes to go to their rooms and tidy themselves up before the celebrations began. Matthew went into his dressing room with William, and Mary found Anna waiting for her in her room. All her clothes, jewellery and other possessions had been moved to the new room and Mary smiled as she sat down to let Anna do her hair for the first time at this dressing table.

"I almost wish there was no party," Mary said, thinking how nice it would be to spend the rest of the day alone with Matthew.

"I suppose you're looking forward to what comes afterwards too much!" Anna teased her, hoping she wasn't going too far. However friendly she and Mary were, she was still a servant. Mary didn't mind, but the thought of what precisely they would do afterwards saddened her.

"You know we can't… do what one usually does on a wedding night," she said.

Anna blushed before replying quietly,

"I know, and I'm sorry. But… well, I don't claim to be an expert, but I think you'll find there are… things you can do."

Mary looked at Anna's reflection in the mirror.

"Things?" she asked.

"You'll just have to… experiment," Anna said, embarrassed. She might be the same age as Mary, but she was always surprised at how innocent the young ladies were. Anna didn't have experience of marriage (although she hoped she would very soon), but her parents' cottage was small, and there were plenty of girls she knew who were not so well behaved as she had to be, being in service. She knew something of what a man and woman could do together, and suspected some things could be done without the lower body. However, it didn't matter how well she knew Mary, this wasn't a conversation they could have.

Mary thought about what Anna said. Were there things she and Matthew could do on their wedding night besides kissing and sleeping? It wasn't something she could ask anyone, but perhaps…

There was a knock on the door, and Matthew said,

"May I come in, my darling?"

Mary nodded to Anna, who went to open the door. Matthew came over to her.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"I suppose so. I wish we didn't have to go back to everyone though. It will be ages before we can get away. I want you all to myself," she replied.

"And I want you all to myself too. But they'll all be here by now, waiting for us. Besides, I'm hungry." This made her laugh, and she stood up. They went to the ballroom, where all the guests were assembled. When the doors were opened and they came through, everyone cheered. There was music being played by a string quartet in the background, but the dancing wouldn't begin until later. They went over to find some food, their progress being slowed by people congratulating them as they passed. Then they went to sit down to eat. Mary sat on a chair at the end of a row so Matthew could sit next to her.

Various friends and relations came to talk to them, then drifted away, seeing that the couple only had eyes for each other. After a while, Mary noticed the dancefloor being cleared.

"What are we going to do about the first dance?" she asked, panicking a little, and feeling stupid for not thinking if this earlier. Matthew looked down and felt pathetic. What were they going to do?

Then Robert came over to them.

"Do you want to open the dancing with me, Mary?" he asked in a tone that made it clear it was an instruction rather than a question. Mary nodded and stood up.

"One dance. And make sure everyone knows to join in as soon as possible," she said. Robert nodded.

The music started, and they went to the centre of the dancefloor, Mary feeling rather self-conscious in a way she never had before when she danced. Matthew watched feeling ridiculous as his wife danced with her father because he couldn't do it. They had been married a few hours and already he was letting her down. He frowned, even though he knew people were looking at him. He hated the pity in their eyes. He hated being the poor little cripple who couldn't even dance with his wife at their wedding. He knew plenty of people thought Mary was only marrying him for the estate and title, not seeing why else Lady Mary Crawley would throw herself away on a cripple. Of course, he knew the truth, and trusted Mary's love for him. But still, it was torture watching her dance so elegantly and beautifully with her father instead of him.

The only time they had ever danced together was in London during the last Season before the war. They had been almost engaged then, and almost deliriously happy. They had danced together at every party and ball, Mary's perfect elegance making up for his mere competence. That had been years ago, and now they would never dance together again.

By the time the first dance was over and Mary returned to him, Matthew was unhappy and was wishing this whole party was over. Everyone seemed to be staring at him and he detested it. Mary had guessed how he might be feeling, and had picked up two glasses of fine red wine, knowing Matthew appreciated good wine and hoping the alcohol would make him relax a little.

"How much longer do you think we have to stay?" Mary asked when she returned, impatient to be away from the stares and alone with her husband.

"You should know better than I," he replied.

They sat in silence for a while, then Mary had an idea.

"Do you want to dance?" she asked.

"What?"

Mary ignored him and sat on his lap.

"Hold me," she said, and he obeyed, a little bemused. She began to sway in time to the music, and he followed her movements, adjusting his arms so he was holding her as if they were dancing.

"Everyone will be watching," he said, almost able to feel the stares.

"Who cares? Let them watch. It's our day today, the guests are here to see us. Close your eyes if you don't want to see them," Mary told him.

"They're here to see you and your parents," Matthew said, smiling. "I barely know half of them."

"Well just be grateful Granny and Mama didn't force us to have some great society wedding with hundreds of guests we don't know. This, my darling, is a small affair."

Matthew looked around at the crowded room. If this was 'small', he never wanted to see 'large'. But Mary was right. This was their day, and they were going to enjoy it fully. He held Mary closer and continued to sway in time to the waltz that was playing.

Isobel watched them from across the room and smiled to herself. She had known they would be alright.

After 'dancing' in this way for a while, Matthew stopped and looked at Mary seriously.

"I don't mind if you go and dance with someone else, Mary. I don't think you'll find there's any shortage of men to dance with you. You don't have to sit with me all the time. Go and enjoy yourself," he said.

"I _am_ enjoying myself. There is nothing I enjoy more than simply being with you. I prefer your company to that of anyone I might dance with, or I wouldn't have married you. More wine?"

Matthew felt a glow of happiness at her words, and nodded. She rose and went to find some more wine for them.

Perhaps it was the dancing or the conversation, or perhaps it was just the wine, but Matthew and Mary soon began to relax and enjoy the celebrations. They talked and laughed together like they always had done, but there was a deeper and more lasting happiness behind the laughter now.

Cora watched them and smiled. Perhaps she had been wrong. Surely anyone who could make her daughter this happy was a suitable husband? And yet she still worried. The time when they would leave for their rooms was approaching, and it broke Cora's heart to think that they wouldn't have the excitement and joy other couples who loved each other had on their wedding nights. She remembered her own wedding night. She had been terrified. Her mother had told her what to expect, but although she liked and had been fond of Robert, she had hardly known him well enough to say that she felt anything approaching love for him. But he had been kind and gentle, and she had actually enjoyed that night. She could only imagine what it must be like for brides who married for love. Was the love Mary and Matthew had enough to make up for the lack of physical intimacy?

Cora looked up as Robert came towards her, a broad smile on his face which had not faltered all day, even when his eyes had been filled with tears when Mary and Matthew kissed in the church. He sat down next to her and took her hand. He looked deep into her eyes.

"Cora? I know you didn't want this, and I do understand why. But you must try to be happy for them. It has been so long… and truly, I am certain neither of them could have been happy with anyone else. Look at them," he said gesturing to where his daughter and son-in-law were sitting close to each other and laughing at some private joke. "I know you only want the best for Mary, as I do. I'm sorry I was cross with you before. Not that it lasted long. I'm afraid I find it impossible to stay angry with you for long, to say nothing of missing your bed."

"Robert!" Cora admonished, "Someone will hear! And don't apologise. I think… I think perhaps you were right, and I was wrong. They belong together. I am happy for them, Robert."

Robert felt a weight lift from his heart. However happy he had been, his wife's disapproval had stopped the happiness from being complete.

"Shall we dance?" he asked, standing and pulling her up with him. She followed him in a contented silence to the dancefloor, which was still crowded with couples. She smiled to see her youngest daughter dancing with a handsome young man whom she assumed must be a friend of Matthew's. Now Mary was settled, it really was time she turned her attention to the other two.

Sybil was quite happy dancing with George Harrington, one of Matthew's friends from Oxford. He was polite and kind, and even rather witty once he stopped feeling nervous, and Sybil liked him and enjoyed his company. She learnt that he was the eldest son of a baronet, and had grown up in the Shropshire countryside. He had attended Harrow and hated it, then studied law at Oxford and loved it. He had used his knowledge of the law to help with the running of his father's estate. He had wanted to enlist as soon as the war broke out, but had been excluded from service because of a heart murmur.

This made Sybil think of Tom. Much as she enjoyed George's company, nobody could compete with Tom. She had a sudden longing to be with him. She wished they could dance together openly, let everyone know that they were not ashamed of their love. But she wasn't stupid, and there was no way she would ruin her sister's wedding.

When the dance ended, she slipped away, hoping anyone who saw her would assume she was going to powder her nose.

She went down to the garage, guessing correctly that Tom would be there. He was reading a newspaper, leaning on the bonnet of a car. He looked surprised when he looked up and saw her.

"Aren't you at the party?" he asked.

"I was, but clearly I'm not now as I'm here. I think I stayed long enough to celebrate. The truth is, I prefer your company to that of anyone up at the house," she said. "I'm not sure how much longer I can bear this. I wish we could run away now, not worry about the consequences, just disappear. This life is suffocating me, and… I need you, Tom. Watching Mary and Matthew together just makes me know that I want that too. Not the big fancy wedding and the prospect of an estate and title. I want love, Tom. I want you."

She walked over to him, put her arms around him and kissed him hard.

"Then let's run away. Soon. Now," he said when she released him. She looked at him sadly.

"We can't. I can't. Maybe before I spoke to Mary… But she reminded me about our parents. They've just been through a war. One evening we were talking about how the war had changed things, and Papa said that before the war, he felt his life had purpose, and doesn't feel that way any longer. He is so unhappy, discontented. This wedding is the first thing that's made him happy in ages. I don't know how to tell him. I know you don't like all he stands for, but he is a good man."

"I know," Tom said sadly. They stood in silence for a minute.

"Soon, though?" Tom asked hopefully.

"Soon," Sybil confirmed, and they stood there, simply holding each other.

* * *

While the wedding party was going on upstairs, downstairs was a hive of activity. The kitchen was the centre of this, and Mrs Patmore and Daisy were so busy, they barely had time to think about anything except the particular food they were preparing at that moment.

William, though, was not busy. He was doing what he could to help, but as a valet now, he had no specific role on a day like this. Because of this, he had plenty of time when he was free to observe Daisy as she worked. She was rushing around the kitchen, intent and concentrated on her work. The heat in the kitchen and the speed with which she was working had given her cheeks a rosy glow, and her eyes looked bright. William could tell that although it was hard work, she was enjoying it. And as much as he admired her appearance, he admired her work. She was so talented, he thought, to be able to produce such wonderful food. One day, she would be a cook, he was sure. Oh, he was proud of her.

Suddenly, she looked up and saw him watching her. She smiled broadly at him before looking down and continuing with her work. William could not prevent himself from thinking about what Matthew had said to him that morning. Was it possible that she loved him, and for some reason could not say? Her smiles encouraged him in this idea. And the kiss they had shared on his first night back had felt so real…

But since then, they had not shared anything more than quick kisses on the cheek. ' _Ask her'._ William heard Matthew's voice in his head and wondered. What would she say now if he simply asked her whether or not she loved him?

William was disturbed by a maid pushing past him, and then by Mr Carson giving him some task. Later, he would allow himself to wonder about Daisy. But not now, not yet. The day was not over yet.

* * *

Matthew had seen Sybil slip away, and scanned the room to see if she had returned.

"Do you know where Sybil is?" he asked Mary.

"Sybil?" she said, surprised, "Why?"

"I saw her slip away, and I don't think she's come back."

Mary looked at him, and decided now was as good a time as any.

"I think… I have a suspicion of where she might be," Mary said quietly. "But what I tell you must remain secret, for now at least." Matthew nodded, intrigued.

"Sybil is… in love with Branson, the chauffeur. They want to run away together and go to live in Ireland. I said I'd keep their secret and help them. I expect they are together now."

Matthew stared at her in amazement.

"You are helping your younger sister run away with the chauffeur?"

Mary laughed.

"Yes, it does sound rather unlikely, doesn't it? But I've seen the way they look at each other, I've heard them speak to each other. They are truly in love, Matthew. And if they love each other even half as much as I love you, then it is a love worth fighting for. Sybil is young, and before the war, I would have simply hoped she would grow out of it. But this has been going on a long time, and I saw Sybil grow up very quickly in the war. She is not a child any longer. She'll go, whether I help her or not. I just want to ensure she does it right, and causes Mama and Papa the least amount of pain," she said.

Matthew looked at his wife with new admiration. He knew what she must think of her sister's relationship with the chauffeur. He was amazed and proud to find that she was willing to help her sister despite this.

"You will never cease to impress me and make me love you even more," he said, his voice full of admiration.

"I said… I said you'd help. To persuade Papa, make it easier for everyone. You're the best arguer I know. Will you help? Papa listens to you," she asked.

Matthew did want to help Sybil. He agreed with Mary about love being worth fighting for. But the truth was, he would have done anything Mary asked of him, so deep and true was his love for her.

"Yes. Of course I'll help if I can, although I'm not sure I have as much influence as you think with Robert."

"Thank you, my darling. I do love you so terribly much," she said softly.

"No more than I love you," he replied.

"Do you think we could go now?" she asked seductively. Matthew looked at his bride and thought he could not bear another minute not being allowed to do what he liked with her.

"I think that would be an excellent idea," he replied.


	14. Chapter 14

By the time her work for the day was done, it was late and Daisy was exhausted. She made her way slowly up the many stairs to her bedroom and collapsed on the bed, fully clothed. It had been a very long day, but she was pleased for Lady Mary and Mr Matthew; after so long, they deserved to be happy.

Oh, if only she and William could be as happy. Over the past few weeks, she had become more and more certain of her feelings for William, but had still not plucked up the courage to tell him. Perhaps tonight was the night. Lady Mary and Mr Matthew were having their wedding night tonight; maybe it was time she and William had a proper wedding night. She didn't know precisely what that would involve, but she trusted William, and she wanted to be married to him in every sense of the word. How it had taken her so long to realise that she loved him, she didn't know. She had made him so unhappy by not returning his feelings. She knew this, and hated it. But now she would put everything right. She would love him faithfully forever, she would devote her life to making him happy, because he was so good, so perfect, he deserved it.

She forced herself to get up from the bed and undress. She would surprise him when he came to bed. She climbed back under the covers without putting on her nightdress, and waited nervously for her husband.

She didn't wait long before she heard footsteps on the stairs, then on the corridor. William. She knew the sound of his footsteps as well a she knew her own. Better; she had never listened consciously to her own. Her heart began to pound, although whether with nervousness or excitement, she couldn't tell. She was no longer tired.

The door opened and William came in. He was smiling wearily and his eyes lit up when they saw Daisy in bed, awake and watching him.

"What a day! I don't think this house has been this happy since before the war," he said he undressed. Daisy just lay in bed smiling and watching him.

When William pulled back the covers and lay down, he gasped in shock. Daisy was lying in bed with no clothes on. He was getting used to her in her nightdress, but this… Did she want to drive him mad?

"Daisy? What…?" he began, but stopped when she reached for him and pulled him closer to her.

"I'm ready, William. I love you. Let's not let Lady Mary and Mr Matthew be the only ones to have a wedding night tonight," she whispered.

William stared at her, unable to believe that he was hearing correctly.

"Daisy, are you sure?" he asked uncertainly.

"Yes. I love you, and I am ready," she replied.

William stared at her for a moment longer, then leaned over and kissed her. She returned his kiss with equal fervour and began to pull off his pyjamas, suddenly filled with a need and desperation to make love, despite having very little idea what that would involve.

William was filled with the same need, intensified by weeks of waiting, and years of loving. He touched Daisy gently, careful not to hurt her or frighten her. But she pulled him closer and he knew she was as ready as he was, and finally, they became man and wife in all ways.

* * *

Mary fidgeted with nerves and excitement as Anna prepared her for bed. She had been waiting all day for this, to be alone in their room together. And yet now, when it came to it, she was nervous.

Mary was a little shocked when Anna picked out not her usual white cotton nightdress, but a cream coloured one which was quite sheer. Anna laughed at her expression.

"A wedding gift from your mother, Mary," she said, smirking.

"Mama?" exclaimed Mary in surprise. She blushed to imagine her mother purchasing such a garment. But then, she _was_ American.

"There's a dressing down to wear until you… get into bed," Anna said, picking up a matching dressing gown that was only slightly less indecent. Mary put it on, then told Anna she could go.

"And don't come too early in the morning tomorrow," Mary called after her. Anna giggled a little.

Mary waited for Matthew, looking at herself in the mirror and wondering what was to come. She remembered Kemal and what it had felt like. She remembered the pain, and the longing for it to stop. She shuddered. Then she remembered the unexpected pleasure and the almost frightening _need_. She had never felt anything like it before, that indescribable sensation of pleasure between her legs. She felt a sort of tightness there now as she thought of it, a strange longing to be touched there.

She wondered what they would be able to do. She knew Matthew wouldn't be able to do what Kemal had done, and she was almost glad; she would never forget the feeling of him, limp and dead inside her. She shuddered at the thought. No. She didn't want that.

But she wanted, needed something. What had Anna meant by 'things they could do'?

She jumped when she heard a knock on the door that led to Matthew's dressing room.

"May I come in? Are you ready for me?" Matthew asked through the door. Mary's heart hammered with excitement as she walked slowly to the door and opened it. Matthew stared transfixed at her in her sheer nightgown, his mouth hanging open a little.

"Are you coming in then, or are you just going to sit there staring at me?" she asked playfully. He grinned and wheeled himself into the room. Anna had gone so far as to light candles around the room, the light they gave softer than the harsh glare of the electric lights. Matthew's eyes widened in appreciation.

"To bed, my love?" she asked, and pushed his chair over to the bed. She helped him onto it carefully, knowing without having to be told that his back would be sore after such a long day. He reached out to her to pull her onto the bed with him, but she stepped back and went to sit at her dressing table, taking up her hairbrush to brush her shimmering chocolate locks. She laughed gently at the look of dismay on Matthew's face.

"Don't worry. I'm coming in a moment," she said.

"Come now," he almost begged.

"Don't you remember that morning when we were looking around these rooms and I said I was imagining sitting here like this while you waited for me in bed? My dream has come true, let me enjoy it."

Matthew waited a moment.

"You've enjoyed your dream. Now let me enjoy you," he said, and Mary was unable to resist him. She rose slowly and slipped off her dressing gown. With the candlelight behind her, Matthew could see her body through the thin material as well as if she were wearing nothing at all. He gasped at her beauty and perfection. She went over to the bed, climbed onto it and closed the curtains behind her. The light in there was even more wonderful with the candles outside.

She crawled over to where he was sitting propped up by the soft down filled pillows and kissed him on the mouth, opening his lips with her tongue. Every sense seemed to be heightened, and her body seemed to tingle all over with lust.

He kissed her back equally passionately. He forgot about the pain in his back and lost himself entirely in her. His wife. She was finally his, his to kiss, his to love. In their own little red-tinged world, she was the only girl in the world and he was the only boy. There really was nothing else that mattered but that they were together, finally together.

He allowed his hands to slowly stray further and further down her body. He stroked her neck and shoulders, the skin there perfectly smooth and translucent. Then he caressed and held her breasts through the thin material, causing Mary to sigh with pleasure.

"Take it off," she moaned, wanting to feel his hands directly on her skin. He obeyed, and awkwardly pulled the loose nightdress over her head with her help.

He pushed her down so she was lying on her back and he could see her in all her naked glory. He wanted to get to know every inch of her. His hands went back to her small breasts and she moaned as he gently squeezed them. Then he traced with his gentle fingers a line down from between her breasts to her navel, then down between her legs, disappearing into the dark hair there.

He had been a teenage boy in a house filled with books on anatomy; he knew that, theoretically, he should be able to give Mary some pleasure, even if it was nothing to what he wished he could give her. He stroked and caressed her there, exploring and experimenting with what made her happy. He found the place where he could give her pleasure and gave it to her, feeling wonderful and powerful as he made her cry out as she reached the height of her pleasure.

Then they lay there, breathing heavily, Mary's eyes closed.

"That was incredible," she breathed after a while. She had never imagined that anything could feel so good, so perfect.

Then she roused herself.

"Your turn," she said as she began to unbutton his pyjama shirt. The hairs on his chest tingled as she worked her way down. Then she pulled his shirt off and buried her face in his chest. She felt the hard, strong muscles and looked up to take in his new upper body strength. He looked so strong, so manly. There were scars all over his skin, faded since she had last seen his bare chest, but there still, lingering reminders of the war. She traced her fingers along each one, remembering how she had carefully cleaned them when he had first come home, unconscious and covered in blood.

Then she moved to remove his trousers so they could lie together bare skin to bare skin.

Matthew saw what she was doing and moved to stop her.

"No, Mary. Leave it," he said seriously. He hated his legs now. They were so thin and weak looking, and he detested their pathetic pale deadness. He didn't want Mary to have to see, could barely stand to look at them himself.

But Mary persisted, and began to carefully pull his trousers down. It was strange for him to watch her touching him, to know that she must be, but to feel nothing whatsoever. He hated how she was so gentle, but his legs were dead to her touch. She pulled the trousers down, and looked at him, lying naked and vulnerable before her. He watched her face, waiting for the inevitable revulsion, waiting for her to pull the sheets up so as not to see his pathetic legs.

But she didn't. She looked at him, all of him with undisguised lust. He watched her in amazement. Did she really not care, or was she acting to spare his feelings?

Mary was not acting at all. She could not have acted in that moment, so real was this night, this love, this wonderful man. She looked at him and was unutterably glad he was alive. How many women were alone in their beds tonight, thinking of lost husbands and sweethearts? Her Matthew was home and safe, damaged but here with her. His injuries were a testament to her good fortune. He could easily have died, as so many young men had, as he nearly had. And yet he was here, in her bed, their bed, watching her with trepidation.

She smiled at him, her eyes dark and shining with love, and Matthew knew she could not be acting. This was real. She loved him, even as he was now. He struggled to believe it even though she proved it with every movement, every word, every glance.

Mary leaned down and began to kiss him all over, stroking and massaging his body as she did so. He noticed she never went bellow where he lost sensation, and wondered if it was deliberate. But soon, the sensation was so delicious, he stopped thinking and wondering altogether and lost himself in her touch. He kissed every part of her he could reach, tasting the salty tang of sweat mingled with the sweet aromatic spice of her perfume. Everywhere she touched seemed to tingle delightfully.

Then he gently rolled her off him so she was lying down again, and turned so he was looking down at her, twisting for a moment away from her to awkwardly shift his legs. Then he slowly kissed his way down the length of her body, from her neck down to where he settled between her open legs.

"Matthew!" she gasped, halfway between shock and delight, "What are you…"

Then she gave up and gave herself fully to the perfection of the moment, the deliciousness of what he was doing to her. She felt every muscle in her body tense and her back arch as the pleasure intensified and built up, until finally it was released and she sighed deeply. She relaxed and lay back on the pillows, happier and more satisfied than she had ever thought possible. Matthew pulled himself up the bed so he was lying next to her. She rolled over so she could look into his eyes.

He looked back at her and felt an overwhelming love for her. He could hardly believe how good it had felt to do that to her. He had forgotten about what he could not feel, and simply enjoyed feeling what he could. And it had been better than he had ever imagined. The sensation of her kisses and her caresses, on his neck, his ears his nipples, was as good as any love making he could imagine.

He shifted painfully to come closer to her for a kiss. She kissed him back, but had seen the flash of pain in his eyes, and when she pulled away, she told him to roll over so she could massage his back. He was about to protest that he was fine, but knew she wouldn't believe him, so did as he was told.

She traced the line of his spine down his back to his scar, then she stopped and began to massage the area gently. He groaned softly. His back was the worst it had been for a long time, due to the two car journeys, the hours of sitting in the same position and his awkward twisting and moving in bed with Mary. He let her soothe the pain and found himself drifting to sleep after a while. He whispered for her to stop, then rolled back so he was on his back. He gestured for Mary to put her head on his chest and she did, breathing in his familiar scent.

Mary matched her breathing to Matthew's, and relaxed as she felt his strong heartbeats through his chest. They fell asleep almost immediately, contented and satisfied.

* * *

Daisy yawned and opened her eyes slowly. She felt warm and happy and beloved. She breathed in and took in the scent of William's sweat and her own. She was perfectly content and relaxed and she snuggled closer to her husband.

Then she remembered. Her husband. William. Her husband _in every way._ She smiled sleepily to herself. Finally, they were truly married and truly happy. She thought back to last night…

Daisy smiled to herself, then turned around a little so she could kiss him. His eyes fluttered open while her lips were still on his and she saw the incredulity, then the joy in them.

"Oh Daisy," he said when she finally drew away. "Was last night really real?"

"Yes. I love you. Oh, I'm so sorry for… before. I love you now and I promise I will always love you. I'm so, so sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for. Never apologise to me. We are together now, we both love each other. That is all that matters. Come here," William said, and Daisy came to him for another kiss.

* * *

Matthew woke up first, and remained completely still and silent, but for the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. He remembered lying awake at night, months ago, thinking how sad it was that he would never see Mary sleeping. He saw her now. He could only see the top of her head and her gorgeous hair, but even that was truly beautiful. The light was bright even through the curtains, and he imagined the morning light streaming through the windows. He could hear the birds singing and thought no morning had ever been so perfect. He broke the rhythm of his breathing to sigh with the joy of it.

He felt Mary stir on his chest and reached out to stroke her hair. She murmured something unintelligible and buried her face deeper into his chest.

"Good morning, my darling wife," he whispered, not wanting to break the perfect peace of the moment.

Mary heard Matthew's voice and suddenly became aware of where she was and what had happened the previous day. Matthew had called her 'my darling wife' and it was true. They were married and this was to be their first full day as husband and wife. She raised her head to look at his beloved face.

"Good morning, my darling husband," she whispered back, placing her head on his chest again.

They lay like that, enjoying the thrill of simply _being_ together, belonging to each other. Words were not necessary to express their love, they saw it in each other's every breath.

Then Mary raised her head again and this time moved to kiss her husband. He kissed her back, and it was a different kind of kiss from the ones they had previously shared. It was gentle and happy, certain and unhurried, the kiss of a husband and wife who knew they had a whole future together and didn't need to rush.

Then Mary felt that tightness between her legs, and her kissing became more urgent. Matthew sensed her need, and slowly moved his hand down to where he was wanted and gave Mary what she needed.

Afterwards, Mary felt guilty in her pleasure. She wished she could give Matthew what he gave her, wished they could share their pleasure.

"Are you alright?" asked Matthew, sensing that there was something wrong. "I'm so sorry, my darling, I know this isn't perfect. I wish I could be a proper husband to you. I wish our wedding night could have been… how it should have been. I hate being a disappointment to you, my love. I shouldn't have let you marry me. Now you're stuck with an impotent cripple forever," Matthew said unhappily, thinking Mary's unhappiness came from dissatisfaction with their love making.

"Hush, my darling. Our wedding night was perfect for me. You were, are, perfect. I just wish that I could… make you feel like you make me feel. You gave me such perfect pleasure. I just wish I could do the same for you. And don't you dare call yourself a cripple, Matthew Crawley!" she said, feeling terrible that she had made him think he had done something wrong.

"All the body's capacity to feel pleasure is not centred… down there. I love you with my heart, soul and mind. You give me pleasure simply by being, and your kisses give me more joy than anything else ever could. Don't you dare feel guilty, Mary, ever. None of this is your fault."

"And neither is it yours. You fought in a war, Matthew. You were lucky to come home, when so many didn't. Don't waste your luck, your opportunity, by being miserable."

"God, I love you so much Mary!" Matthew said, then began to shake with sobs. Mary was about to say 'hush', but stopped herself. Matthew had a right to cry, after all he had been through, all he had seen and done, all he had lost. So she just held him as the sobs tore through him.

She held him and tried to make up for all the times there had been nobody to hold him, to love him in the middle of the war. She knew many soldiers had paid for comfort from women in the many brothels in the French towns they were billeted in. But she knew that Matthew had never done that, his honour would never have permitted it.

Matthew felt he would fall apart if it weren't for Mary's arms holding him together. There was so much grief inside him, for the hundreds of men he had seen die, British and German. He thought of the men he had killed, and how their families would be grieving back at home. He wondered if he had caused some poor young German boy to end up like him, a cripple for the rest of his life. The thought made him feel sick. He cried for the future he could have had with Mary if this hadn't happened to him. The places they could have travelled, the rides and walks through the beautiful Yorkshire countryside, the children that could have filled their nursery.

And all the while Mary held him, and stayed strong for him. Slowly, his sobs began to subside. When he was quiet, Mary said,

"I love you too, my wonderful sea monster." Matthew, caught by surprise, laughed.

"Perseus never came then?" he asked.

"It turns out I didn't need rescuing from my sea monster. He's not half so hideous up close. In fact, I'd say he was rather close to perfection," she said, and she kissed him. "Turns out sea monsters are excellent lovers, too." They kissed passionately again, and only broke apart when they heard a knock on the door. They giggled like children caught doing something wrong.

"Anna?" Mary called.

"Yes it's me. May I come in?"

Mary looked at herself and Matthew, completely naked on the bed.

"Yes, come in. The curtains are drawn around the bed."

They heard Anna open the door, then pull back the curtains on the windows, making it suddenly bright and morning-like.

"What time is it Anna?" Mary asked.

"Half past nine," Anna replied.

"Could you bring breakfast for both of us please? I know it's not traditional, but who's going to mind?" Mary said.

"Very well, Mary. I'll be back in ten minutes," Anna said, and left the room.

"I think we should probably put something on before she comes back," said Matthew after a pause. Mary nodded agreement, then got off the bed to put on her nightdress and search for her dressing gown, which she had left on the floor the night before. She returned to bed and helped Matthew pull his trousers up. He had already put his shirt on.

"Shall I pull back the curtains, now we're decent?" Mary asked.

"I wouldn't call what you're wearing decent, but since I suppose Anna helped you put it on last night, you're alright," Matthew said, smiling.

They sat, propped up on the pillows, Matthew's arm around Mary's shoulders, until Anna arrived.

Anna couldn't stop herself smiling. She had watched them in love but being kept apart for years, and now they were finally together, and she was bringing them breakfast in bed the morning after their wedding. It all felt faintly unreal. Mr Matthew looked slightly embarrassed at being found in Mary's bed, married or not, and Anna had to try very hard not to laugh. She handed them each a tray of Mrs Patmore's best breakfast and coffee, then left them alone again, to enjoy their first morning as man and wife.


	15. Chapter 15

The first week or so of Mary and Matthew's married life had a dream-like quality. They awoke each morning tangled in each other's arms and perfectly content. Matthew slept without being woken by nightmares every night, something he thought he would never manage again after the war.

They could go through a day and barely notice anyone else, so absorbed were they with each other. They were almost in awe at this new happiness, after so many years of loneliness and pain and misery. They walked in the garden for hours when the weather was fine, and when it was not, they sat in their rooms, side by side on the sofa in the sitting room, or even went to bed, drew the curtains and made love. They even ate dinner in their sitting room for several nights, enjoying the luxury of being alone together and of having informal dinners, where they could touch or kiss or talk or laugh as much as they liked, and didn't have to dress in uncomfortable clothes.

They read: books, plays, poetry. They were delighted to discover how many favourites they shared, and enjoyed introducing each other to new authors, poets and playwrights. Mary loved nothing more than listening to Matthew read aloud to her, his gentle voice deep and full of emotion, yet never over-dramatic. Even when the words he read did not speak of love, Mary heard his love in them, and it made her feel warm and safe and beloved.

The rest of the family left them alone, knowing they would have been away on their honeymoon if things had been different. Robert watched them while his heart burst with pride and love, and gladness that the years of uncertainty and unhappiness were at an end. The question of an heir, he simply put from his mind and ignored. Cora watched with relief, seeing that her daughter was truly happy and beginning to accept Matthew as her son-in-law.

Isobel instantly accepted Mary as her daughter-in-law, and loved her as the daughter she had never had. She watched as Mary showed Matthew the life he could have, the life they could share, the life Matthew had stopped believing in for so long after his injury. She glowed with pride as she watched her son bring out the kind, sensitive Mary who had been hidden for so long behind a mask of coolness and arrogance.

It was a constant sadness to her that there would never be any grandchildren. She loved children, and when it had become clear that Matthew was the only child she and Reggie would ever have, they had accepted it and said to each other 'there will be grandchildren'. Reggie had died before he could see these longed-for grandchildren, but Isobel had simply assumed without thinking about it that one day her son would marry and become a father.

But really, what did it matter? Matthew was alive and happy and beloved by a wonderful woman, whom Isobel was confident would love and care for him for the rest of their lives.

Edith watched them with barely concealed jealousy. She had always know that Mary would get what she wanted eventually. Now she had love and the certainty of money and a title in the future. She was safe and secure, happy and beautiful in her happiness. And to Edith it seemed so wrong that Mary, who had broken all the rules and taken a lover, should be happy while she, Edith, who had been good and done everything right, should be alone.

It had started with Patrick. Edith had loved him, truly loved him, for as long as she could remember. Yet this mattered nothing to anyone, least of all Mary. He had been Mary's almost from the moment of his birth. Yet Mary didn't love him. Cold, cruel Mary had only been going to marry him 'if nothing better came along'. To Edith, there was nothing better. Patrick was kind, handsome, generous, he had deserved to be loved utterly and completely, and she could have given him that. But he had always been Mary's. And then, quite suddenly, he was gone. And Edith had watched Mary's appalling lack of grief at the death of her fiancée, as her own heart broke and her world shattered, having no meaning without Patrick in it.

Then Matthew had come, and he and Mary seemed to get on so badly to begin with, she had thought that maybe a man might prefer her to Mary. But it had soon become evident that that would not happen. It didn't take long for Matthew to fall under Mary's spell. Even after Mary proved spectacularly, when she hesitated because of the baby, that she didn't deserve him.

Then there had been Sir Anthony. How was it that even after Mary had laughed so childishly with Matthew at Sir Anthony that he had still fallen for her tricks after dinner? It hurt even to think about what happened next. The hope when Sir Anthony took her, not Mary, to that concert. The joy of those weeks and months of drives in his car and being seated next to him at dinners. The desperate anticipation as the garden party drew nearer and Anthony told her he had an important question for her. Then the earth-shattering pain and disappointment, the hatred she felt as she looked at Mary, suspecting the worst. And the cruel smile on Mary's face as she had raised her glass to Edith, acknowledging what she had done, proud of it.

Revenge. That is what Mary might have called it. Revenge for that letter to the ambassador, for simply telling the truth. Was it wrong, what she had done? It had not seemed so at the time; Mary had done wrong, and it was only fair that she was punished. But if Edith hadn't acted in anger as she had, perhaps Mary would have left her to find her own happiness.

And now she watched Mary, happy with the man she loved, after everything that had happened. Mary didn't deserve Matthew, he would have been better off with Lavinia, sweet gentle Lavinia. The opposite of Mary. And she, Edith, had not seen Anthony since that disastrous garden party, and seemed doomed to spinsterhood and loneliness.

Sybil was delighted for them, although rather preoccupied with her own affairs. She felt the injustice that Mary could marry the man she loved and everyone celebrated with them, while the news of her marriage to the man she loved would only bring pain to her family. Yet in Sybil, unlike Edith, this sense of injustice did not incite jealousy, but rather a profound sadness and disappointment that the world was as it was, and an urge to challenge and change the rules that bound her. She had as much right as her sister to marry the man she loved, and that is what she would do. There was nothing anyone could do to stop her, she was a grown woman, strong and sure, and she would get what she wanted.

She determined to speak to Mary as soon as possible, although she would of course allow her some time to simply be happy in her marriage with nothing to worry about. She would speak to Mary, and then they would decide how to break the news to the family.

* * *

Mary and Matthew's blissful peace and happiness was shattered before Sybil had a chance to do it herself though. One morning, when Anna came in with their breakfast, the newspapers and the post, as she had done every day since their marriage, Mary saw in her small pile of letters one addressed to her in a hand which as horribly familiar. She had to use all her self-control to prevent herself from gasping loudly. Matthew was reading his own letters, and thankfully didn't notice. Mary decided not even to open the awful letter now, but to wait until Matthew was not there.

She waited until he was in his dressing room, then, preparing herself for what might be in the letter, opened the envelope and began to read.

 _My dear Lady Mary,_

 _I can just see you opening this, your heart beating fast, your eyes wide; you are frightened. I would bet my fortune (if I were a betting man) that you haven't told Crawley you have a letter from me. You are alone in a room, I am certain. You see, I know you well, whatever you would like to pretend._

 _Do not be afraid, my dear, I write only to congratulate you on your wedding. That is the done thing among your people, is it not, to write politely to your former fiancée when they marry someone else. And you see, I am determined that I will become one of your people, one way or another. So here is my letter of congratulation._

 _You are surprised; you were expecting me to publish your filthy scandal, to ruin you as revenge for spurning me in favour of your crippled cousin. I came very close to it. You treated me abominably, and you deserve punishment for it; I will not stand for being treated badly. But you see, I have thought long and hard about it, and I don't feel that you need my punishment. Now, of course, you are happy. You are married to the man you loved even when you were promised to me, of course you are happy. Why am I not jealous? you wonder. I ask you instead, why would I be? Why would I, who have wealth and power and influence, be jealous of you? You have given up a life of excitement and power and pleasure, for the life of a nursemaid._

 _I know you, Mary. This life will not suit you. You are a woman who deserves and needs far more than Matthew Crawley will ever be able to give you. The day will come when you realise what you have sacrificed, and you will begin to regret your decision and to resent your impotent cripple of a husband. Because what can he give you, in truth? Your beloved Downton Abbey will be yours in time, I grant you, but with no children to inherit, you will live to see it passed on to a stranger. You will have his love, that is also true; I have seen the way he looks at you. But it will not be the love you deserve. You have desires and needs that he will never be able to fulfil. Do not pretend that that doesn't matter to you; I do not need to remind you of a certain Turkish gentleman, do I?_

 _So you see, I do not need to get my revenge on you. I need only watch and wait, and I will see you slowly growing discontented and resentful. And when you reach the point at which you see you have made the wrong choice, when you realise that you must escape, or you will fade away until you disappear into nothing, then I will have my revenge._

 _And then, you must remember me. We could have made a good team together. We could have had something that was more than simple, common love. We could have had so much, and we could have been happy. So I tell you Mary, I will always be there, waiting, and Haxby will always be there, waiting for its mistress. For we could have had so much, Mary, and it is not too late. You will dismiss this now, but I know you better than you know yourself, and I know that you will keep this letter, and act on it one day._

 _And if you don't, it will be you who will suffer, not I. I have my newspapers and my money and my power. You will have nothing, once your love begins to fade. And remember, a part of you will always be mine. For though I say that I do not need to publish your scandal, that does not mean I never will. Selling newspapers is what I do, and if there comes a time when I want to shock society with Lady Mary Crawley's scandalous past, I will not hesitate to do so. You will never be free of me, my dear. You will always be_ _my_ _Lady Mary._

 _Richard._

Mary could feel her heart beating horribly fast, and felt suddenly sick. She had thought she had escaped that awful man, but she knew now she would never be free. She had prepared herself for ruin; if he had published, she would have dealt with it, with Matthew by her side. But she was not prepared for years of uncertainty, knowing that he was in possession of a secret that could ruin her and her family at any point.

And his words made her shiver. However much she despised him, he knew her. He knew that she would be alone and frightened reading his letter, and he knew she wouldn't tell Matthew. And all the other things he claimed to know about her…

No. They were not true. She knew they were not true. She would love Matthew forever, and would never resent him, or grow discontented; how could she, when he was her husband?

But despite being certain of this, she began to cry, not even knowing why. _'You will never be free of me, my dear.'_ No, she would never be free of Richard Carlisle. Even the words that were untrue would stay with her forever, and the thought of Haxby, that lovely house she had visited as a child, waiting for her to change her mind and go to Richard, was eerie and unnerving. It was so close. How would she ever forget even for one minute?

She put the letter down on the bedside table without thinking, and lay down with her head buried in Matthew's pillow; the pillow muffled her sobs so she was unlikely to be overheard, and it smelled of Matthew, which brought her some measure of comfort.

This was how Matthew found her ten minutes later when he came back into the bedroom looking for her. He was shocked to see her crying when she had been so happy since their engagement. She had been fine earlier. What had happened?

He wheeled himself over to the bed, realising that Mary was too far lost in her own sorrow to have noticed that he was there. He gently placed his hand on her shaking shoulder.

"Mary?" he said quietly.

She started and sat up suddenly. Her face was blotchy from crying and her breath was coming in short gasps. There were tears drying in two silvery lines on her cheeks, and more were filing her eyes, although she clearly didn't want to let then fall with him there.

"What's wrong?" he asked, concerned and completely bewildered.

Mary tried to control her sobs and managed to say, "Nothing. I'm sorry. It's nothing. I'll be fine in a moment."

But Matthew caught her glance at the letter on the bedside table, and he saw it from the first time. It was clear that this was the source of Mary's unhappiness, so Matthew picked it up and began to read.

Mary tried to stop him, but he ignored her pleas, and she watched with frightened eyes as he read it. She watched as his forehead creased in a deep frown and his eyes flashed with anger. Oh why hadn't she thought to hide the letter? Why had she left it out for him to find? He already had enough doubts without them being reinforced by the lies of that awful man.

But Matthew had stopped doubting Mary's love for him when they had married, and although it was not pleasant to read about himself in the way Carlisle had presented him in the letter, he had enough faith in his wife to know that it was simply wrong, and to feel only anger that that man had dared to upset his wife.

"Matthew?" Mary whispered tentatively when she saw he had finished reading.

"How dare he? How dare he write to you like this?" Matthew muttered under his breath.

"Oh darling, please, you realise it's not true?" Mary pleaded, dreading what Matthew might be thinking of her after reading it.

Matthew heard the desperation in her voice and dropped the letter on the floor to go and hold and comfort Mary. He wished he could have got on the bed next to her and held her properly, but this would have to do.

"Of course I don't believe a word of it. What we have, Mary, is just too perfect for a man like Carlisle to understand. He understands the value of nothing but threats and money. He is jealous, and he doesn't realise it. Now, the first predictions were correct, but to prove the rest wrong, let's prove the very last one wrong. You will not keep this letter and act on it later. Come on, the sitting room fire is lit, we can burn it."

Mary was so relieved to hear his answer, she broke into fresh sobs, although these were sobs of relief and gratitude rather than pain and anger. She rose from the bed and picked the letter up from the floor. Together, they went through to the sitting room, and Mary threw the letter in the fire. They watched as it shrivelled up and blackened and burned. When there was nothing of it left to see, Mary felt a weight lift from her shoulders, and she went to sit on Matthew's lap. He held her and kissed her until her tears dried, and then they sat looking into each other's eyes with complete love and trust.

"It is true he will always have my secret, Matthew. The rest of that letter may have been nonsense, but that part is true. I will never truly be free of him," Mary said sadly after a while.

"No, it is not true. You are _my_ Lady Mary, not his, and whatever storms come in the future, we will brave them together. We do not need to worry about what he might do in the future; it is the present that matters, and I am determined not to let him ruin that. Forget about him, Mary. There is nothing that he can do that will change anything between us, or between you and the rest of your family or close friends. As for 'society', well, who cares? There's always some scandal that gets everyone's tongues wagging, and it is always succeeded by a new one before long. Anyone who lets something like that alter their opinion of you is no true friend, and therefore not worth worrying about."

Mary felt comforted by his words, and decided that he was right; it was not worth worrying about what might happen in the future when the present was so perfect.

Matthew smiled when he saw that his words had comforted her, and kissed her again.

"Now, I know we've only just got up, but I suggest we go back to bed so I can prove to you that you really are _my_ Mary, not Carlisle's," he murmured in her ear when he drew away from the kiss.

"I think that is an excellent idea," Mary replied. "But you're dressed."

"You'll just have to undress me then, won't you," Matthew said, smiling and looking at her in a way that made Mary's heart beat hard and fast.

They went back to the bedroom and made love passionately, all thoughts of Carlisle banished from their minds by love.

* * *

Sybil chose her moment. It was two weeks after the wedding. Sybil thought it a shame to give Mary and Matthew something to worry about when they had so recently found happiness, but she was impatient, having waited years to acknowledge her feelings and find her own happiness. She also wanted to use her father's good humour following the wedding to her advantage. Mary's objection to telling him had been that he had suffered enough. But he would have to be told at some point, and Sybil considered that he might look more favourably on her situation now his eldest daughter was well settled.

It was easy enough to speak to Mary and Matthew in private now they had their own rooms. She could be fairly certain that they would be in there any afternoon when the weather was not favourable to walks in the garden.

So one rainy and dismal afternoon, Sybil knocked on the door of their private sitting room, able to hear Matthew's gentle voice reading poetry through the door. He stopped short when they heard the knock, unused to being disturbed. Sybil heard a shuffling as Mary got up and walked towards the door. Then she heard the turn of the key in the lock. This surprised her. What were they doing that was so private that the door had to be locked? But then she remembered they were newly married and smiled to herself, blushing a little. She might not know anything about them, but she supposed there were plenty of things a married couple might do in private.

Mary opened the door and smiled when she saw Sybil.

"Come in, darling. I suppose I would be correct if I assumed you were here to talk to us about… your plans," Mary said, and stood aside so Sybil could enter the room.

It really was very cosy, she thought, looking around at the fire in the hearth and the shelves filled with books lining the walls. Matthew was lying on the sofa, his shoes on the floor and his wheelchair in the corner of the room, out of sight. Sybil guessed they had been lying on the sofa together, and that Mary's shoes had been hastily put on when she got up to open the door.

"I'm afraid you've caught us not really expecting visitors," said Matthew, as Mary helped him sit up, then sat down beside him.

"Don't worry, we're family," Sybil assured him.

Sybil sat down in an armchair and waited a moment before she started talking, unwilling to spoil this perfect little world with her problems. But she had determined that she would do something, and so she must.

"I said I would do nothing until after the wedding; I didn't want to steal your thunder. But now… well now I'm ready to tell Papa, to tell everyone. I am not ashamed of the man I love. Tom is a good man, clever and kind and… wonderful. A world that does not see a man like him as our equal is an unjust world. I do not wish to hurt anyone, least of all my family, but I will not conform to rules that are so utterly ridiculous that they dictate that I cannot marry the man I love and who loves me," Sybil said, her voice full of anger and frustration at the world in general, and also a tenderness and love for Tom.

"I won't pretend I approve of what you are doing Sybil. But I do admire it, and understand it. But we have established that. The question is how we break the news to the family. You realise it will break Papa's heart and shock Mama deeply. I don't think anything will make that any better. But I am glad you waited until now. Now is as good a time as you will have to tell them," said Mary. Matthew squeezed her hand, and she smiled fleetingly at him. "I think we should wait until an evening when Isobel and Granny are here for dinner. Granny has as much right to know as anyone, and Isobel might support you." Mary looked at Matthew for confirmation and he nodded.

"Yes, Mother will think it's a marvellous idea, simply because everyone else will disapprove so heartily. Branson - Tom, I suppose we should call him, if he's to be part of the family - Well, Tom should be there. Ask him to come up after dinner, dressed smartly, but not like a chauffeur. You two must break the news together. It will be bad, but you must be expecting it," Matthew said, looking at Sybil seriously. She nodded gravely, but inside, her heart sang. 'Part of the family'. She was incredibly pleased and relieved that at least one person was willing to accept Tom as that.

"You must make sure you explain your plan, assuming you have a plan, to them," Matthew continued. "Show them you have thought this through, that it's not a passing fancy, a childish rebellion against your parents. And don't get upset. Stay calm and behave like a rational adult, no matter what the provocation. Later, I will talk to Robert when he has calmed down a little, make him see that there is nothing he can do, and that this is truly what will make you happy. I can't promise miracles, but I hope I can be of some assistance."

Sybil looked at Matthew gratefully as he finished talking. She didn't expect miracles, but she did have faith in Matthew's ability to make her father look more favourably on the proposed marriage. She had her plan now. She was ready to decide her own fate, to free herself from the constraints her birth, position and gender had placed on her since the day she was born. She had her plan. Now she had only to wait for the right time.

 ** _I'm not sure how much time I'll have to write over Christmas, so sorry if the next chapter's a bit late._**

 ** _Please review if you have the time, I'd love to hear your thoughts!_**


	16. Chapter 16

It was almost a week after Sybil's conversation with Mary and Matthew that Robert invited his mother and Isobel to dinner. Sybil waited for that day in anticipation, unsure whether the stifling emotion she felt was excitement or dread. She tried to be particularly friendly and loving towards her parents, knowing that everything would be different soon. She wanted desperately not to fall out with them, but was not naïve enough to expect their support. Papa of course would be furious, and equally bad would be Mama's disappointment.

Sybil told Tom everything Matthew and Mary had told her, and he agreed with their suggestions, surprised that they had been so helpful.

He began to feel a liking and a respect for these people about whom he had not thought a great deal until now. They had simply been members of 'the family'. He had liked Mr Matthew marginally more, since he treated the servants like the human beings they were. But for all that, he was one of _them,_ one of the class that oppressed the lower classes without ever questioning their right to do so. Mr Matthew might be a middle class lawyer, but he had been to some fancy school, and would be an Earl upon the current Lord Grantham's death. Tom had been sorry for him when he was injured, but had not thought about him more than that.

Lady Mary he might have actively disliked if he had thought about it hard enough. She was cold and haughty, and although she was always polite enough, she noticed him no more than the car itself. It was as if she saw him merely as a part of the car, something necessary and useful but not someone with thoughts and feelings.

And yet now he saw them as people, real people. He saw them as those of their own class saw them, and as he saw members of his own class. He saw their flaws and their strengths, saw that they had desires and hopes, fears and worries, the same as anyone else. They became human beings to him, imperfect, but not simply representatives of their class.

Sybil told him of how they had loved each other truly and faithfully for so many years, kept apart by so many things. She told him of the way they brought out the best in each other. Sybil told him of the Mary whom nobody but Matthew had been able to find, the witty, generous and passionate Mary whom Tom found it difficult to equate with the Lady Mary he had seen. Sybil told him of the way Lady Mary, who had had nothing to do with nursing during the war, seeming to think it beneath her, had asked how hot the water should be to wash him when Mr Matthew had been brought home injured, how she had devoted her life to looking after him.

Sybil had told him of Lady Mary and Mr Matthew's willingness to help them, despite knowing what the rest of the family would think. He found that he would not mind being part of their family, as he would have before; he had no more right to be ashamed of them than they did to be ashamed of him.

Tom looked forward to the evening when the truth would come out with as much excitement and dread as Sybil.

* * *

Finally the much anticipated evening came.

Mary, Matthew and Sybil were tense throughout dinner that evening. They watched Robert and Cora in their blissful ignorance of what they would be told later. Sybil was quiet, and jumped every time someone spoke to her.

Isobel, perceptive as usual, could tell that something significant was about to take place, but was at a loss to guess what. She supposed she would find out before long, and tried to forget and enjoy the food and the company.

Tom was more nervous than he could remember being before. He looked at himself in the mirror outside the servants' hall one last time, checking his hair was tidy and his face clean. It was almost time. After years of loving Sybil from a distance, then months of waiting for her to make her decision, the time was finally here when their love would no longer be secret. It would be real, acknowledged, even if it were not approved of.

This would be his last night here as chauffeur as well. Lord Grantham would hardly keep him on after he knew of his relationship with Sybil. He had money though, money he had been saving up even before Sybil had given him her answer. He had known this day was coming, and was ready. He took a deep breath and walked up the stairs, hoping against hope he did not meet Mr Carson or any of the other servants and the stairs. There was no way he could explain why he was on his way to the drawing room.

He reached the door without meeting anybody. He stood outside, listening to the chatter from the other side. He reached out his hand, but hesitated. Opening the door would signify the breach of the barrier that stood between his world and theirs. There would be no going back once he did that. The door seemed like a huge obstacle, solid and immovable. He closed his eyes and opened them. It was only a door. Doors were made to be opened. He pushed the door open and stepped into the room.

The silence when he opened the door and was noticed was sudden and complete. Then Lord Grantham said,

"Yes?"

Tom looked across the room at Sybil.

"I'm here," he said definitely.

"So I can see," Lord Grantham said, confusion and surprise evident in his voice.

Sybil rose from her seat and walked swiftly over to Tom.

"I don't think this was such a good idea, we mustn't worry Granny," she said panicking a little now the long-awaited moment was here.

"You asked me to come, and I've come," Tom said firmly. This was it, this was the moment they had waited for. He would not back down and give up now.

"Will someone please tell me what is going on?" asked the Dowager Countess, "Or have we all stepped through the looking glass?"

"Your grandmother has as much right to know as anybody else," Tom said.

"Why don't I find that reassuring?" Violet asked, not expecting an answer.

Sybil took a deep breath and looked challengingly at her father.

"Tom and I are in love, and we are going to be married. I know you won't like it, but I have made my decision."

Robert stared incredulously at her.

"Tom… Branson? You want to marry the chauffeur?" he said, hoping he had somehow misunderstood.

"Yes," Sybil replied simply and defiantly.

"Have you lost your mind?" Robert roared. "You are Lady Sybil Crawley, daughter of the Earl of Grantham. You cannot marry the chauffeur. This is quite possibly the most ridiculous conversation I've had in my life." He turned to Branson. "Leave at once, and we shall forget any of this… this madness ever took place."

"I will not leave. I do not want to forget this ever happened. I love your daughter, and we are going to be married. That is a fact, and nothing will change it," Tom said firmly.

"A fact? How long has this been going on? Does anybody else know of this madness?" Robert asked the room in general. Sybil opened her mouth to speak, but Matthew gave her a sharp look which clearly told her to be quiet, and she closed it again. Matthew thought he would be trusted more and would therefore have greater influence with Robert if Robert didn't know that he had been plotting with Sybil and Branson behind his back.

So a stony silence answered Robert's question.

"So all this time you've been driving me about, bowing and scraping and seducing my daughter behind my back!" Robert accused Branson.

"I don't bow and scrape, and I've not seduced anyone. Give your daughter some credit for knowing her own mind!" Branson almost shouted back.

"How dare you speak to me in that tone," Robert said, his voice like ice, his anger having gone beyond shouting. "You will leave at once."

"Papa!" Sybil said angrily.

"This is a folly," Robert exclaimed, "A ridiculous juvenile madness!" Then he was interrupted by Violet.

"Sybil? What do you have in mind?" she asked, her voice concerned but calm.

"Mama, this is hardly…" Robert began, but his mother held up her hand to silence him.

"No, no. She must have something in mind, otherwise she wouldn't have summoned him here tonight," she continued.

"Thank you Granny," Sybil said calmly. "Yes, we do have a plan. Tom's got a job on a paper. I'll stay a while to avoid the impression that I'm running away. But then I'll go to Dublin."

Cora stared at her daughter in shock.

"To live with him? Unmarried?" she asked, her eyes wide with horror.

"I'll live with his mother while the banns are read," Sybil explained, then she turned to look at Tom and her expression softened. "And then we'll be married, and I'll get a job as a nurse."

"And what does your mother make of this?" Violet asked Branson.

"If you must know, she thinks we're being very foolish," replied Tom, a little embarrassed.

"Oh! So at least we have something in common" Violet commented.

Then Robert, who had been looking away, trying to comprehend what was going on, turned around and shouted,

"I won't allow it. I won't allow my daughter to throw away her life."

"You can say and do whatever you like, it won't make any difference!" Sybil shouted back.

"Oh yes it will," Robert said threateningly.

"How? I don't want any money, and you can hardly lock me away until I die!" Sybil replied." I'll say goodnight. But I promise you one thing: tomorrow morning nothing will have changed." And with that, she left the room, Tom following her.

They left utter silence in the drawing room. Then Violet spoke.

"I think I have had quite enough excitement for one day. I shall say goodnight." She rose, and Carson went to open the door for her and call her car to the front of the house.

Isobel, who had been uncharacteristically silent, now spoke.

"Well I don't think it's such a terrible thing that two people who love each other want to be together and marry. In fact I think it's rather brave of them," she said.

Robert massaged his temples.

"Not now, not tonight, Isobel. I just can't listen to your progressive modern ideas tonight. And you'd better leave with Mama. Branson certainly won't be driving you home," he said tiredly.

Isobel saw that this was not the time, and left, quietly bidding the family goodnight.

"I think I've just about had enough of today," Cora said, and she left, her voice and expression blank and weary. Edith followed in silence. Mary looked at Matthew, who nodded, and she left too, leaving the two men alone together. There was a short silence.

"I need a drink. Brandy?" Robert asked Matthew, who nodded. Robert walked slowly over to the table where the drinks were and poured two large glasses of the liquor. He handed one to Matthew and took a large mouthful of his own. Then he sat down with a sigh.

"What did I do wrong?" he asked. Matthew, guessing correctly that he would not welcome a truthful answer, remained silent. "I should have seen. There must have been signs, clues. But I saw nothing. I've let Sybil have whatever she wanted: the mad clothes, the politics, the nursing. And now this. I should have seen it coming. This is what happens when you give a girl too much freedom." Robert sighed and took another sip of brandy.

"I don't think you should blame yourself for not noticing," Matthew said. "Everyone has had other things on their minds for years. And I expect they became very accomplished at keeping their secret."

"So accomplished, I have lived in the same house as Sybil all her life, and still failed to notice she was being seduced by one of the servants. It's like something out of one of the dreadful American novels Cora reads."

"I'm not sure it's fair to say Sybil was seduced. She is a strong-willed girl, and I'm sure she knows exactly what she is doing," Matthew said calmly.

"I will not allow it!" Robert burst out. "I will not allow this to happen! Sybil is my daughter, she is living under my roof. She will not throw away her life, her world. This is where she belongs, I won't allow her to disappear off to Ireland with that mad socialist revolutionary."

Matthew waited a moment for him to calm down.

"I don't think there's anything you can do to stop it. Sybil is twenty-one, she is of age. She does not need your permission to marry. She says she doesn't want money, and I think she means it. Other than that, there is nothing you can do. The law says that she has the right to decide."

"Damn the law! The law is wrong if it allows this!" Robert shouted.

"Even so, it is the law. Sybil will marry Branson. The only question is whether she runs away with him, causes a scandal, or whether she marries with your permission with at least some of her family at the wedding. We both know Sybil, Robert. Once she has set her mind to something, there is very little that can be done to dissuade her." Matthew took a long drink of brandy, hoping Robert would understand and wouldn't turn on him.

Robert looked as if he were about to shout at Matthew again, but only for a moment. He sighed and put his head in his hands.

"I suppose if anyone in this family knows the law, it is you. But she will never have my permission. I shall do everything in my power to prevent this from taking place, whether the law supports me or not," he said, his voice quietly determined. He was confident he could make his daughter see the folly of her actions.

"I know you will. But I don't think it will have much effect." Matthew spoke equally quietly, and determinedly. "I don't believe there's anything anyone can do tonight, however. I shall retire, it is late."

Robert nodded and watched his son-in-law wheel himself out of the room. Robert felt useless, helpless against the tide of change that the war had brought. It seemed to sweep everyone and everything along with it in its unstoppable, destructive force. Yet so many people seemed happy enough to be swept along, to ride the wave. Cora, Isobel, his daughters, Matthew, all seemed to swim with the tide, while he struggled and tried not to drown. The old world, his world, the world he had understood and known his place in, had gone. Now there was this new world in which Ladies could marry chauffeurs and there was nothing their fathers could do to stop it.

Robert sat alone, the empty brandy glass in his hand for what seemed to him like an age. Then he roused himself and went up to bed. He did not say a word to Bates as he undressed, and when he went in to Cora's room, he saw she was fast asleep. He almost fell into bed beside her, and lay there on his back, weary but wide awake for many hours. He fell asleep just as the first golden light of dawn touched the horizon.

* * *

Mary awoke suddenly from a dream. It had been intense and had felt so real, and she was hot and breathing heavily. But as often happens even with the most vivid of dreams, it had already slipped from her memory. As she became aware of where she was, she was suddenly aware that Matthew wasn't with her. They had slept together every night since their wedding, and she was unaccustomed to waking up without him there.

She remembered suddenly why Matthew wasn't in their bed. He had come to bed late because he had been talking with Papa, and he must have had William put him to bed in his dressing room since she had been asleep. She had meant to wait up for him, but somehow, she must have drifted off.

She rather dreaded today. The atmosphere would be tense and she knew there would be arguments. Branson would have left by now, she assumed, gone to stay at The Grantham Arms in the village, so at least he would be out of the way. She had to know what had happened last night between Papa and Matthew.

She threw back the sheets and went quietly into the dressing room. She looked at Matthew, still sleeping peacefully. She didn't want to wake him. But it would be time to rise soon anyway, and she doubted he would mind being woken up by her. She lay down on the bed next to him and woke him with a gentle kiss.

He kissed her back sleepily, not quite awake. Then his eyelids slowly fluttered open, revealing his beautiful deep blue eyes. Mary pulled away and he smiled lazily at her.

"Good morning, my darling," he murmured, "I don't think I've ever been woken up so pleasantly in my life. Don't stop." He pulled her gently down to him and they kissed again, more passionately now he was more awake. Then Mary pulled away again and laid her head on his chest. He was still wearing his pyjamas, something which would never have happened had he slept with Mary.

"How did it go with Papa last night?" she asked.

"I should have guessed you had a reason for waking me other than for the pleasure of my company," he said, pretending to sulk. Mary laughed a little, then stopped and looked up at his face seriously.

"I need to know."

"It went… as well as can be expected. I convinced him there was nothing he could do legally to stop it, and didn't let on that we already knew. I think that was a modest success. But I can't say I'm looking forward to today."

"Me neither." They were quiet for a minute.

"Shall I ring?" Mary said, to break the silence.

"Yes," Matthew replied. "We shouldn't stay in bed too long today, I suppose."

Mary helped him sit up, reached over to ring the bell, then sat leaning on his shoulder until William's knock came. She went next door and rang for Anna.

"I suppose you've heard the news?" Matthew said to William as he began to dress himself.

"Yes. It wasn't such a shock, though. I had guessed, although I know it was none of my business. I suppose you and Lady Mary knew, sir?" William asked.

"We did. But nobody but you, Sybil and Branson know that, and it's probably best that way," Matthew warned him, and William nodded to show he understood. "Prepare yourself for a lot of shouting and bad tempers today. I expect Carson is every bit as upset as Lord Grantham."

William smiled. "He is."

* * *

Everyone seemed to creep about the house that day. Carson was as upset as Matthew had predicted, and was also feeling a little ill. He assumed it was the stress the unwelcome and shocking news had caused him.

Cora was also feeling rather unwell with the shock of it all, and spent much of the day on her chaise longue.

Robert had an unfruitful argument with Sybil, who insisted she was leaving in a week's time, whatever he said. Robert remembered Matthew's words and felt defeated. He could not persuade Sybil that what she was doing was ridiculous, and there was nothing the law of the land could do to help him. Even Violet's additions to the argument could not sway Sybil's resolve. Sybil even went so far as to find a suitcase and begin to fill it with her plainest clothes, to make a point. She would take them out when her father and grandmother left, not wanting to crease the clothes unnecessarily. But she wanted to show them that she really was serious.

Edith spent the day in a foul mood, hurt that her sister hadn't confided in her. She suspected that Mary had known, and this was the worst pain of all. She would have gone and confronted Mary about it, but Mary was in her private sitting room with Matthew, and it made Edith almost physically ill to enter that cosy room, where Mary was so happy. So she walked in the garden, striding about furiously, at once wishing to be left alone, and to have someone ask what was wrong and comfort her. She spent some time with her mother, but Cora said she had a headache, and wasn't up to talking much, and certainly not being sympathetic to her middle daughter.

Sybil bravely came down to dinner that evening, wanting to show everyone that she was not ashamed. Violet and Isobel were dining at the house again.

"I'm glad you're here, Sybil dear, I was afraid you'd have a tray in your room," Violet said.

"Maybe you should have done," Robert said, looking at his plate, unable to look at Sybil.

"Why? I don't see why I should be ashamed and hide away in my room!" Sybil said.

Robert opened his mouth to speak, but Isobel beat him to it.

"After all, Sybil had enough time to think about it," she said, but Matthew cut her off, not wanting another argument to break out.

"Mother," he cautioned, "leave it."

Just as Isobel was about to reply, Matthew turned to look at Molesly, who was serving the wine in the absence of Carson, who had gone to bed ill at Mrs Hughes' insistence. Molesly seemed to be shaking and he was visibly damp with sweat.

"Mr Molesly, are you quite well?" Matthew asked concernedly.

"I'm alright, thank you sir," Molesly replied.

"I don't think you are," Matthew insisted, taking in Molesly's grey face and shaking hands.

Then Cora said quietly,

"The awful truth is, I'm not quite alright, and I'm afraid I'm going to ask you to excuse me."

Robert rose, his anger at Sybil forgotten in his concern for his wife.

"I'm so sorry," he said. "Would you like us to call Dr Clarkson?"

Anna, who had been standing at the edge of the room said,

"He's coming anyway Your Lordship, for Mr Carson."

"I'll bring him up when he arrives," said Edith.

"I'll sleep in my dressing room," Robert told Cora gently. She smiled weakly and left the room.

It wasn't long before Anna appeared in Molesly's place, serving the wine, informing them that Molesly had been taken ill too.

Isobel left the table, saying she ought to go and help until the doctor arrived.

"Wasn't there a masked ball in Paris when Cholera broke out? Half the guests were dead before they left the ballroom," Violet said.

"Thank you Mama, that's cheered us up no end," Robert replied sarcastically, and sat down.

They continued eating, but without much appetite.

Mary looked worriedly at Matthew for any signs he might be unwell too. The horrible stories of Spanish Influenza were frightening her. She was worried for Matthew, knowing he was weaker and more likely to get ill than everyone else. And if he did get ill, she thought, her breath catching, his body would have a hard job fighting the illness.

Thankfully, he seemed to be alright, and was looking at her in the same way she was looking at him.

"You're sure you're well, Mary?" he asked quietly.

"I'm fine. Are you?" she replied.

"Fine."

"You don't think it's Spanish Flu do you?" Mary asked worriedly.

Sybil heard, and answered before Matthew could.

"I'm afraid it's likely."

Mary swallowed, then began nibbling her lip nervously. Then she gave up trying to eat altogether and got up from the table.

"I'm sorry, you must excuse me, I don't have any appetite. I'm going to see how Mama is."

Nobody challenged her, not feeling like eating themselves. Matthew would have followed her, but Cora's room was upstairs.

It was a great relief to them when they heard Dr Clarkson arrive. Sybil went to show him to the patients. Robert finally gave up on dinner.

"I hardly think there's any point in us staying here. I'm going to see what Dr Clarkson says. Mama, I think it's probably best you went home. There's nothing you can do to help, and I don't want anyone else ill. If it is Spanish Flu, it's extremely contagious," he said.

Violet nodded, for once accepting being told what to do. Anna went to inform Violet's chauffeur that her Ladyship was ready to leave, and Violet went to sit in the drawing room to wait, Edith following her after being instructed to keep her grandmother company. Robert looked at Matthew, who was feeling helpless, unable to get upstairs where everyone else was.

"You'll be alright on your own?" he asked. Matthew nodded.

"Of course. You must go to Cora," he said. Robert smiled fleetingly and left.

Matthew finished the wine in his glass, then went to his and Mary's private sitting room. He picked up a book and tried to read, but his brain would not decipher the words. He couldn't stop worrying about everyone, the ones who were sick and also Mary. If it was Spanish Flu, then like Robert said, it was extremely contagious, and if Mary was with Cora, she was in danger herself. There was nothing he could do. He couldn't be useful, and he couldn't relax. There was nothing to do but wait.

* * *

It was over an hour before Mary came to their rooms.

"It is Spanish Flu," she said tiredly. "Except for Molesly; he's just drunk, the fool."

"How is Cora?" Matthew asked.

"Not too bad, I don't think. Dr Clarkson said she would need some nursing for a few days, but that she would likely be alright. Sybil looked almost happy, and practically ran to dig out her nurse's dress and apron. She'll be in her element. Your mother is too. I think she would be driving Dr Clarkson insane if he didn't like her so much."

Matthew laughed, partly at the knowledge of how his mother would be behaving, and partly with relief that nobody seemed to be too seriously ill.

Mary looked at him seriously.

"Promise me you'll say if you feel in the least bit unwell," she said. Matthew nodded.

"The same goes for you, especially if you're going to be nursing her."

"Of course." Mary paused, knowing Matthew wouldn't appreciate what she was going to say next. "But Matthew, you know as well as I do that you're more likely to get ill than me, and that it would likely be more serious if you did. Please be careful, and keep your promise to me."

Matthew was irritated. He knew her comments came from concern and love for him, but he simply couldn't stand being treated as if he were an invalid. What Mary said was true, but he didn't want to think about it.

"Don't fuss, Mary," he said irritably.

"I'm not fussing. I'm just worried about you. Because I love you." She hated that Matthew was cross with her. Why couldn't he see the truth in her words, why did he not see that she was worried only because she cared for him more than for anyone or anything else?

Matthew saw he had hurt her, and hated it.

"I'm sorry, my darling. I know you were only speaking the truth. I didn't mean to snap at you. Come to bed."

Mary nodded and went towards the bedroom. She turned back to look at Matthew.

"Do you think we can manage without Anna and William? They'll all be in confusion downstairs without Carson," she asked.

"If you think we can, I'm sure we can. If you think you can… sort me out on your own?"

"I've got you in and out of your pyjamas enough times haven't I? The question is, can you negotiate a corset?"

"I won't know until I try. And I'm rather looking forward to that…" he said, following her into the bedroom.


	17. Chapter 17

The entire house was up early the next morning. Dr Clarkson returned and found he had two more patients, junior housemaids.

Mary, Sybil and Edith went straight to their mother after breakfast. Matthew, with nothing to do, was reading a newspaper in the library when Robert came in, dressed in a hat and coat, clearly about to go out. Matthew was surprised to see him leaving with his wife sick in bed.

"Where are you going?" he asked, trying to sound casual and not betray his curiosity.

"I'm going out. For a walk. Maybe to the village," Robert replied, but from the way he looked away from Matthew as he spoke, Matthew guessed there was more to it than that. He looked pointedly at Robert, and Robert sighed and gave in.

"I am going to try to make Branson leave us all alone. If it comes to it, which I hope it won't, I'm willing to pay him a large sum of money to go back to Ireland. I want to put a stop to this nonsense once and for all."

Matthew stared at his father-in-law incredulously. Robert actually thought he could make a man who was in love leave, simply by writing out a check. Matthew was stunned at the arrogance of it. These days, he often forgot he was not 'one of them'. But then there were moments like these when he realised what a different world they lived in, not realising there was another one, inhabited by most of the country's population.

"It won't work," he said simply.

Robert looked at him.

"I'm willing to offer him enough money to make a comfortable new life for himself in Ireland. He would be a fool not to take it."

"Even so, it won't work," Matthew repeated.

"Of course it will. Men like that will do anything for money," Robert said, irritated by Matthew's stupidity.

"'Men like that'? What precisely do you mean by 'men like that'?" Matthew said, feeling his temper rising. "What do you know about Tom Branson?"

"I know what books he reads, I know he is our chauffeur, I know he has been seducing my youngest daughter behind my back for goodness knows how long. I know enough," Robert replied.

"But you know nothing of his character. You have never had a proper conversation with him, have you?" Matthew retorted.

"He is a servant. Why would I have had a conversation with him?"

"He is a human being, is he not? But that's an argument for another time. My point is, how can you judge his character without getting to know him and giving him a chance to prove that he is worthy of Sybil's love?" Matthew was becoming exasperated, but was determined to keep his temper.

"The reason I have never spoken to or got to know him is the very reason he is not worthy of my daughter's love: he is from a different class, and he will never be able to give Sybil what she deserves," Robert snapped.

"Do you not think Sybil is old enough to know what she wants and deserves? She is not a child, Robert, she is a woman. She spent years nursing soldiers with horrific injuries, and did it well. You do not need to protect her from the world. She can make her own decisions." Matthew paused, then began to speak again, his tone lower and more serious.

"Mary and I are happily married. But if I hadn't been persuaded that she was capable of choosing her own future, we would never have married. Do you think I thought that marrying me was the best thing for her? I can't give her children, or be a proper husband to her, or even look after myself properly. But she deserved the right to make her own decision. I see now that it was wrong of me to assume that I knew better than her what would make her happy. Sybil deserves the same right. She has had time to make up her mind, and has decided.

"She loves him, and I am certain that he loves her. Did you not see the way he looks at Sybil last night, Robert?" Matthew asked calmly, looking levelly at Robert, so Robert found it impossible to look away from the intense blue stare.

"Saw it? Of course I saw the way he was looking at my daughter!" Robert said indignantly. Was Matthew suggesting he hadn't been paying attention?

"Then you must have seen that he loves her. And she loves him. Right or wrong, their love is a fact, an indisputable fact. And a man deeply enough in love to sacrifice his job and threaten his future like Branson has will not leave for anything, least of all money. I know what it is to be in love, Robert. Love cannot be bought or sold, love does not have a price. Your mission is useless and hopeless. Your wife is lying upstairs, seriously ill. You will be of much more use here."

Matthew finished speaking, and Robert wearily sat down in an armchair. He closed his eyes, his forehead creased with worry. It seemed like too much of an effort to speak, to even open his eyes. Matthew let him be, glad to have prevented him from making a fool of himself and wounding Branson's, no, Tom's pride. They sat in silence together until Edith burst into the room.

"Papa! There you are! It's Mama, she's worse. You'd better come."

Robert jumped up, his profound weariness suddenly gone in the anxiety of the moment. He was grateful to Matthew for keeping him here. What if Cora had needed him and he had been out on what he now recognised as a foolish errand? He almost ran upstairs to his wife's bedroom, where he found his other two daughters and O'Brien.

Cora was white and her breathing was laboured. O'Brien was sponging Cora's forehead with cold water and looking exhausted and worried. She wouldn't leave Cora foe anything. Robert went over to his wife and took her hot, clammy hand.

"Can you hear me, my darling?" he asked urgently. Cora didn't respond.

"She hasn't said anything for hours, but I think she knows we're here," Sybil said.

Robert set down Cora's hand and drew Sybil aside.

"How is she really?" he asked desperately.

"Dr Clarkson says we will know more later. He's just left," she said, wishing there was something she could say that would comfort her father. Robert shook his head and went back to holding his wife's hand as O'Brien continued the struggle to keep her temperature down. Mary and Edith stood at the end of the bed, frozen in fear and a sense of uselessness. Mary wished she had trained as a nurse during the war like Sybil. She desperately wanted to help, but was at a loss to know how.

In their fear, the sisters overcame their rivalry and dislike of each other, and clutched each other's hands, trying to find and give any comfort and reassurance they could. Eventually Sybil told them they were not being of any use, and to leave to give Cora space and a little more peace. They obeyed without question, glad really to be able to get away from the wheezing of their mother's laboured breathing.

"I'll go and see how Carson is," Mary said when they were standing in the corridor, unsure what to do. "He shouldn't be left alone and forgotten just because everyone is preoccupied with Mama.

"No, I'll go. Go and be with Matthew, I know you want to," Edith said.

Mary stared at her sister. She realised she wanted nothing more than to find Matthew and let him hold her and comfort her. She needed his strength. It was as if Edith had read her mind. But it was so unlike Edith to do anything for her, she could hardly believe she had heard right. She nodded mutely and went downstairs.

Edith herself was equally confused at her own words. She had spoken without thinking, seeing Mary's weariness and fear and knowing that Matthew would be able to comfort her. But why should Mary get that comfort, when it was Mary who had ruined Edith's chances of having someone to comfort her? And yet, although she tried to remember her anger towards her sister, it seemed that there was not room in Edith's heart or mind for anything other than worry for her mother. Her quarrels with Mary seemed so petty now, so unimportant in the face of this.

She watched Mary almost run down the stairs and to the library in her desperation to be with Matthew. And Edith didn't feel any jealousy or anger, only sadness that she had nobody to rush to.

Matthew was rather startled when Mary came into the room and walked straight over to him. He opened his arms automatically to her, and she almost fell into them. She buried her face in his shoulder and he held her in silence, wondering if the worst had happened, but waiting for her to tell him rather than rushing her. She was shaking, and she felt so small and fragile, almost as if she would break if she was put under any more strain. She was usually so strong, so brave. When he had cried, the morning after their wedding, she had held him like this and it had been wonderful. Now it was his turn.

Eventually, Mary lifted her face up. She wasn't crying, but she still trembled.

"I'm sorry," she said, taking a deep breath and attempting a smile. "I'll be alright in a minute. I don't know what's wrong with me." Her voice had a false brightness to it that made his heart clench.

"You don't ever need to be sorry, Mary."

"She's worse, much worse. Oh God, the sound of her breathing Matthew! It sounds as if each breath takes some herculean effort, it's almost painful to listen to."

Matthew could think of nothing to say. To say everything would be alright was simply lying. So he held her even tighter, and gradually felt her trembling begin to subside.

"I want to be with her, to help, but I just feel so useless. I don't know the first thing about nursing, despite having lived in a convalescent home for years. I don't know what to do to help, I feel stupid and pathetic in the face of Sybil's calm efficiency. I should have trained as a nurse in the war, although I suppose I would have been a rubbish one anyway. I'm just so useless!" Mary said hopelessly.

"Don't you dare say that about yourself, Mary. You would not make a rubbish nurse. Do you think I've forgotten who looked after me when I was injured? I might have been groggy with morphine, but I knew you were there. You had the sweetest voice and the gentlest hands. And you've looked after me in the weeks since our marriage, and without any training at nursing at all. Don't feel useless, you are not useless. You are magnificent, Mary," Matthew said firmly, his voice full of love.

Mary wanted to cry at his words, but she controlled herself and managed a weak smile.

"I love you," she said simply as she looked into Matthew's eyes.

"And I love you," he replied. Then they were quiet for a while, until Matthew said, "We need to do something to distract ourselves, something useful. You remember I told you a couple of days ago that your father asked me to help him understand some of the legal matters to do with the running of the estate?" Mary nodded. "I still don't know the estate like you do. I've read through a few books and lots of documents, but it's impossible to get a full idea of what's going on without a feel for the land. If we can find a map, will you help me with it? I know it will be tedious, but it has to be done and doing something useful like that is better than just sitting here worrying. We've both accepted we can't be much use upstairs. But this will help Robert in another way. What do you think?"

Mary considered for a minute. It seemed rather heartless to be doing estate work while Mama was desperately ill upstairs. But Matthew had a point; they weren't being useful just sitting around. They may as well be useful in another way.

Mary knew where her father's maps and plans were kept, and fetched a few she thought would be useful. They took them back to their sitting room and Matthew found the pile of papers and books that had been on the desk there for a few days.

They worked together for hours, having lunch brought in on a tray. It turned out to be far from tedious. Matthew revelled in working again, doing what he was good at, deciphering complicated documents and learning new things. He hadn't worked since before the war, and had almost forgotten how much this sort of thing interested him. He was also fascinated by the running of the estate which would one day be his. Mary astonished and impressed him with her knowledge of the estate, knowing every tenant on every farm. She knew the land well too, where everything was in relation to everything else. It seemed ridiculous that Robert had never used that knowledge and involved Mary more in the running of the estate.

Mary enjoyed the work too. She had always secretly wanted to be involved in the running of the estate. It hurt that if she had been a boy, her father would have been proud and delighted at her interest. Instead, she had asked once when she was young, been told it wasn't women's work, and never asked again. She was proud when Matthew was impressed with her, and loved learning from him, and teaching him about the things she knew and he didn't. He was so patient with her, and such a good teacher, and unlike most of the men she was acquainted with, he didn't mind being taught new things by a woman. Slowly she saw how the estate didn't magically run itself like it had always seemed to do; it was an intricate machine, made up of hundreds of parts perfectly fitted together like clockwork.

Every now and then, Mary went to check on her mother. She would come back and Matthew would ask how Cora was. Each time the answer was 'no worse', the subtext being that she was no better either.

For the first time in as long as she could remember, Mary didn't dress for dinner. Mrs Patmore had prepared a buffet dinner for them, and Mary was filling plates for herself and Matthew from the table at the edge of the room when Sybil ran in.

"You should come, all of you. She's worse."

Edith and Robert rose from the table immediately and rushed upstairs. Mary didn't want to leave Matthew downstairs alone, or be without him, but she needed to go to Mama and Matthew couldn't get upstairs. She hesitated.

"Go," Matthew said firmly, and she went.

Cora was breathing in great gasps, and Mary could hear the sound before she entered the room. Cora's face was grey and she was soaked with sweat. The room was crowded, Isobel and Sybil tending to Cora with O'Brien's help. Dr Clarkson looked on gravely, unable to do anything but hope.

Then suddenly Cora coughed loudly, sounding like she was choking. Everyone turned to look at her. Blood was pouring out of her nose, the bright red contrasting horribly with the pale transparent grey of her face and the white of the sheets. Everyone panicked except Isobel and the doctor, who just looked worried but resigned, as if they had been expecting it.

"How bad is it?" Robert asked Dr Clarkson, dreading the answer.

"If she makes it through the night, she'll live."

Robert stared at the doctor in horror. That meant there was a distinct possibility she would not make it through the night.

The whole family stayed in the room for what seemed like hours. There was no change, except that Cora seemed to be getting weaker. Her moans were fainter and she moved less. Dr Clarkson went to see to the other patients, but they were all recovering well enough and he returned to Lady Grantham.

Eventually, Isobel told them all to go to bed, promising to wake them if there was any change. Only Robert remained in the room, though Isobel and Dr Clarkson stayed within earshot.

Mary went downstairs and found Matthew already in bed, trying and failing to concentrate on reading a book. He put it down when she entered the room.

"How is she?" he asked.

"She might not make it through the night. I'm only here because your mother promised to wake me if anything changes. Would you undo my corset?" she said, sitting on the bed so he could reach.

"It looks damned uncomfortable!" he said as he struggled with the hooks and laces and ribbons. "Oh Mary, I'm so sorry. But she was healthy before this, so..." He trailed off, realising that nothing he said was going to be of any comfort.

Mary sighed with relief as he finally succeeded and she was free of the restrictive whale boned corset. She pulled on a plain white nightgown, the kind that would be suitable if she had to get up in the night. Then she sank back into the pillows and was asleep within minutes.

Matthew watched her fall asleep, his heart filled with tenderness and love for her. He remembered the horror of his father's death, and felt a deep sympathy for Mary. There was nothing that could happen that was worse than losing one's parent. He prayed silently to a God he was not even sure was there to spare Cora, then fell into an uneasy sleep, filled with intense dreams of his father.

* * *

Robert sat with Cora all night, refusing to leave her side. He had an irrational fear that she would die if he left her, but that if he stayed, she would pull through. He held her hand and watched as she struggled for each breath. Then she slept, and Robert watched her toss and turn restlessly, then slowly relax into a deeper sleep.

Through this long night, Robert had a lot of time to think. He thought of how he had taken everything he had for granted, how he had failed to appreciate his wife and daughters over the years. He still felt the old guilt for marrying Cora for money rather than love. Although the love had come in full force afterwards, still he could not forget that at their wedding he had felt nothing for her but a vague liking and the relief that the estate was safe.

But then, if he considered marrying for money to be wrong, how could he in conscience prevent Sybil from marrying for love? Because though he hadn't seen it before, Matthew had showed him that Sybil really did love the chauffeur, and he loved her back.

Robert knew now that there was nothing he could do to stop them. Sybil was so stubborn, so sure. She would have such a different life if she married Branson, but when he thought hard about it, he supposed Sybil had never been and never would be truly happy in the world she was born into. It was so far from the life he had imagined for her. Even if her family did not cast her away, the rest of society would. It was simply not acceptable to marry a chauffeur.

But Robert had lived through a war. He had watched thousands of young men go away to fight and not come back. He had seen, here at Downton, the officers whose lives would never be the same again. He had seen their missing limbs and their disfigured faces, seen the looks of despair and horror in their eyes. The sad but honest truth was that many women of his daughters' generation would be left spinsters or widows because of the war.

And then there was Matthew. Matthew, who had volunteered as soon as the war broke out, who had spent four years living through unimaginable horrors, and then come home to a life that could never be the same again.

And now Robert was watching as his wife clung to life by a thread that could at any moment break.

Yes, he had had a good dose of things being put into perspective. His family was so precious to him. How could he fall out with his daughter over something he could do nothing to prevent? He loved Sybil, and he was not going to lose her.

Slowly the dawn broke, and Robert, who had completely lost track of time until he saw the pale light of the morning, began to hope. This was the beginning of the end of the night, and Cora was still there. Her breathing was faint and weak, but it sounded less laboured and painful than before. Robert rested his head on the bed for a moment, and within seconds he was asleep.

Dr Clarkson came in to check on Cora and smiled tiredly when he saw Robert's sleeping body and heard Cora's regular breathing. He felt her forehead and saw that the fever had broken. She would live. He left, happily reporting the good news to Isobel.

* * *

Anna was awake early. Usually, she was fast asleep until Daisy came to wake her, always exhausted from the previous day's work. But today she was awake worrying. She didn't know that Cora was past the worst of her illness, and Anna worried for her.

But her main concern was whether she and Mr Bates would be able to marry on Friday as they had planned. The police certainly hadn't finished with him, and Anna needed to be able to have the right to be informed of every development as his next of kin.

There was this practical side to the marriage. But at the same time, Anna needed John to finally be hers. They had waited so long, had loved each other from a distance for so long. And now Mary was settled and happy, and Lady Sybil had made her choice. She was the same age as the girls. If they could marry the men they loved despite the difficulties they faced, why shouldn't she? She loved John more than she had thought it possible to love, and she wanted that love finally acknowledged. She had known for so long that she and John belonged to each other, heart and soul.

But now, with everyone ill, would she be able to get away? Was it right for them to celebrate when Lady Grantham's life hung in the balance and half the servants were on their backs?

She determined that she must ask Mary. Mary was her friend. If it was in her power, Mary would help. Mary had asked to be woken early that morning if she wasn't already up, to see how her mother was, so as soon as Anna was dressed, she went to wake and dress her.

She stood outside the door to Mary and Mr Matthew's room and hesitated. If she was going to have any chance of their marriage going ahead, she needed to tell Mary now. But could she tell her the happy news when Mary's mother might be dying? And should she tell Mr Matthew too? It was so much more difficult to speak to Mary alone now she was married.

Yes, she could tell Mary, and Mr Matthew too. It wouldn't take long, the wedding would only be a small affair in the registry office in Ripon. She had a right at least to ask. She trusted Mary to help her, and Mr Matthew was a good, kind man.

She knocked on the door and entered.

* * *

Of course, Mary and Matthew had agreed without hesitation that the wedding must go ahead, and after learning that Cora was going to recover, they were even more enthusiastic. So on Friday that week, Anna found herself standing with John in front of the registrar at the registry office in Ripon, promising to love him until death. She smiled all the way through the ceremony, but managed to say her vows correctly. When John brought out the ring, she could hardly contain her excitement and elation, and wished the ceremony was shorter so it would be over and she could be with her new husband.

"With this ring, I plight thee my troth."

"With this ring, I plight thee my troth," John repeated after the registrar.

"As a symbol of all we have promised," the registrar continued.

"As a symbol of all we have promised,"

"And all that we share."

"And all that we share," John said, his voice tender as he looked into Anna's eyes. She felt a tingle through her body as he slid the ring onto her finger.

"It now gives me great pleasure to say you are now husband and wife together," the registrar said, concluding the ceremony.

Anna looked at her new husband and smiled so much she almost laughed with joy. Then they leaned in and kissed, tears of happiness running down Anna's cheeks. She was his and he was hers, forever. They would be together, whatever came next.

They drew back from each other when they heard quiet clapping from the small audience. Lady Mary and Lady Edith had come to see the wedding, since there was nobody else to go. Lady Sybil had been too busy looking after Lady Grantham, who was still very weak and ill. But Anna was so grateful that there was someone there. She had no close family to attend, and neither did John since his mother's death. Jane would have come, but with both Anna and Bates out and half the servants still unwell, she couldn't get away, especially as the wedding was still secret. They would wait until everyone was well again to tell everyone.

Anna would have liked to stay out and simply enjoy being with John for a while, but they would be missed if they didn't return soon. They had originally thought to go and come back on the bus, but Mary had insisted they ride in the car with her and Edith. It was very strange to sit in the comfortable back seat with the young ladies, and although Anna was grateful to Mary for allowing them to, it did mean they had no privacy. But then, she reminded herself, there would be no privacy on a public bus either. They would just have to control themselves until they could tell everyone of their wedding.

* * *

Later that evening, Mary took Anna to one of the smaller guest rooms. The bed had been made up and there were flowers and candles in the room.

"Smuggle Bates in here when everyone has gone to bed. And for heaven's sake make sure he gets the right room!" Mary told her.

Anna was immeasurably grateful, and she did as Mary told her. They spent a perfect night together in the most beautiful and luxurious room either of them had ever slept in. They were so happy to finally be together.

Bates thought Anna had never looked more beautiful than she did lying next to him in bed, her hair loose and beautiful, spread out on the pillow behind her.

Neither of them slept much that night; they were too busy getting to know each other in new and wonderful ways. But the sleep they did get was deep and happy and contented, tangled up in each other's arms.

* * *

Mr and Mrs Bates' new-found happiness didn't last for long. Bates had been right when he thought the police hadn't finished with him.

Only a few days after the wedding, soon after they had formally informed the rest of the servants and family of their wedding, two policemen came to the house, asking for John Bates.

Bates was folding shirts when Anna came to him, close to tears.

"What is it, what's wrong?" he asked urgently.

"They're here… They've come... Oh John!" Anna said, unable to form a complete sentence, so upset she was.

"Who? Who's here?" he asked, fearing he already knew the answer. He held Anna as she trembled with fear.

"Two policemen."

Bates gently released his wife and walked slowly downstairs. He had known this was coming. There was too much circumstantial evidence against him, too many people who had overheard their fights and known how things stood between him and Vera.

He walked into the servants' hall, oblivious to the stares of the other servants. Anna stayed with him. He tried to act as if nothing was wrong as he took in the policemen's grave expressions.

"Are you looking for me?" he asked calmly.

"John Bates?" one of the policemen asked.

"Yes," he confirmed.

"You are under arrest on the charge of wilful murder. You are not obliged to say anything unless you desire to do so. Any thing you do say will be taken down in writing and may be used in evidence against you upon your trial."

"I understand," Bates replied, his voice quiet but strong. He must stay strong for Anna. He must. "Please do whatever is required."

Anna cried out wordlessly and flung her arms around him as the policeman locked his wrists up in handcuffs.

"I love you!" she managed to say. "For richer, for poorer, for better, for worse." She kissed him.

"And I love you Anna," he said. Then the men led him away, past the staring servants, as Anna stood watching them take him, unable to do anything.

When he had gone, Anna suddenly felt it was all too much for her and fainted. She was caught by Mrs Hughes, who had been ready for it. Anna came around quickly, but Mrs Hughes sent her to bed. She refused every offer of comfort and went up alone to her little room, which had been her own since Jane had left two days ago.

She couldn't cry, she simply sat on her bed and wished she could just disappear and not have to face the world ever again.

She was still sitting in the same position when Mary came to her room.

Mary had never been in Anna's room before, there was no reason for her to. Usually it would have been a great shock for Anna to see her there, but in her current state, she hardly noticed.

Mary looked around, surprised at how small and sparse the room was. She had never really thought about the servants' rooms before. She knew they were there, but had had no reason to wonder what they were like.

She walked slowly over to Anna, unsure what to say. She could hardly say everything would be alright when she knew nothing of the law. She sat down on Anna's little bed and put her arm around her friend. Anna remained stiff for a minute, not acknowledging Mary presence. Then something inside her seemed to collapse and she leaned on Mary and frighteningly strong and uncontrollable sobs shook her body. The sobbing seemed to last forever. Several times, Anna tried to control herself, but each time she failed.

Eventually, she exhausted herself, and stopped crying only because she had not the energy to carry on. Mary made her lie down, and Anna curled herself up like a frightened child. She closed her eyes and looked as if she would sleep. Mary rose carefully and went to the door. Just as she was leaving, she started as she heard Anna's voice, weak and croaky from the crying.

"He is innocent. He's done nothing wrong." Her voice was full of despair and incomprehension.

Mary looked back.

"I know," she said, thinking there was nothing more she could say in response to this simple truth. She left the room, feeling as drained as if she had been crying as hard and as long as Anna.

* * *

"How can we be going on with our lives when Anna and Bates' have just fallen apart? How can an innocent man be dragged away by policemen, arrested for murder when he's done nothing wrong? How can it be allowed to happen?" Mary said quietly as she lay in Matthew's arms that night. The day had been like a bad dream. It was inconceivable that Bates could even be suspected of any crime. Bates who had fought alongside Papa in the Boer War. Bates who had looked after Matthew so well when he had first come home. Bates who had made Anna so happy.

Matthew had no answer for her questions. It was as much of a shock to him as it was to Mary. He had come to like and admire Bates very much over the past few months. Bates had been the only one who could treat him normally when he first came home, the only one who could look him in the face without his glance flickering awkwardly to the wheelchair. Bates had made what would have been humiliating with anyone else bearable when he was looking after him.

Unable to reassure Mary, he simply held her and kissed her dark hair tenderly.

"I can't tell you it will all be fine," Matthew said eventually. "But Robert will spare no expense. Bates will have the best lawyers. And as far as I can gather, the evidence is purely circumstantial. If it comes to a trial, which it may not, Robert can testify that Bates is a good man, and that he would never have done this. The word of an Earl carries a lot of weight. Perhaps it is wrong that it does, but for us in this case, it will be useful. But it is likely that he will be released before it comes to that. He didn't do it, so they can't have any proper evidence. Anyway, there is nothing we can do about it tonight. In the morning we can act. But for now, my darling, you must try to sleep. You will have to be strong for Anna." Matthew was trying to reassure himself as much as Mary.

He stroked her hair and then her face, brushing away the lines of worry on her forehead. Soon Mary found herself unexpectedly drowsy. Yes, tomorrow something would be done. But tonight, the most useful thing that could be done was sleep. She slowly drifted into sleep, Matthew continuing to stroke her hair until he was certain she was properly sleeping.

Then, with nobody to do the same for him, he took comfort from the simple fact that Mary was next to him, and drifted into an uneasy sleep.


	18. Chapter 18

Sybil tentatively opened the door to the library, her heart pounding. Why had Papa asked to see her like this? Surely he had given up trying to persuade her out of marrying Tom? And he had hardly seemed to notice anyone or anything that was going on around him since Bates' arrest. He had finally stopped his frenzied telephone calls, but now he realised there was nothing he could do, he had sunk into depression.

Robert heard his daughter enter the room and close the door behind her. He was sitting at his desk, his back to the door, but he could see her in his mind's eye walking across the room slowly and nervously. He sighed and stood up, turning to look at her.

"You're set on this mad plan, aren't you?" he said sadly.

Sybil hated to make him unhappy, but this was her life, and there was no reason she shouldn't marry the man she loved.

"Yes Papa. I love Tom and he loves me. We will leave in a week or so," she said firmly.

Robert looked at his youngest child and sighed. She was so young, so bright, so full of life. He couldn't bear to lose her. He had made his decision. He saw clearly that there really was nothing he could do to stop her. And he saw her excitement at the thought of going away. Maybe this really was what would make her happy.

"Then you can take my blessing with you, for whatever that is worth. I don't want you to think I approve. I do not. I am as certain as I have ever been that this is a ridiculous thing to do. But I cannot lose you, and I see there is nothing I can do to dissuade you. Everything that has happened recently, it has made me see how infinitely precious you all are to me. So you may take my blessing. And there will be some money. You will have a very different life from what you are accustomed to, but I can see that is what you want. I want only your happiness."

As her father spoke, Sybil's heart soared. She had not expected this from him. She had hoped, but it had never seemed like a realistic prospect that her father would give her his blessing.

"That means more to me than anything, Papa," she said and she flung herself at him. Surprised but pleased, he caught her in his arms and embraced her as he hadn't since she was a very little girl. Then she pulled away a little.

"Will you come to the wedding?" she asked hopefully.

Robert looked at her. He did so want to make her happy. But going to his daughter's wedding with the chauffeur? He wasn't sure he could do it.

"We'll see. I shall discuss it with the rest of the family," he said.

Sybil smiled at him and tightened her arms around him. Her happiness would be complete if her family could share it with her.

She immediately went to find Mary. Mary had become more and more accepting of Tom over the past few weeks and Sybil wanted to tell her of her father's acceptance of him. She was glad she had taken Mary's advice and waited, and glad Matthew had talked to Papa. She doubted Papa would have been so forgiving and accepting before.

Even if Papa and Mama wouldn't come to the wedding, Sybil desperately wanted Mary and Matthew and Edith there. Papa wouldn't forbid them. Mary and Edith could be bridesmaids. At least some of her family could meet Tom's family.

But the wedding was to be in Ireland. Could Matthew travel all that way? And would there be somewhere suitable to stay when they got there? Probably not, she thought sadly. Would Mary come without him? She doubted it. Since they were married, they never spent any time apart.

Sybil excited steps slowed as she approached Mary and Matthew's suite. Some of her excitement was wearing away now she thought there was a possibility she would marry with none of her family present; it seemed unlikely that Edith would come alone.

She reached the door and knocked. She had thought they would be in there, but there was no answer. She tried the door and found it unlocked. She went in. There was nobody in the sitting room, but she could hear their voices. She called Mary's name, but clearly they were too absorbed in their conversation to hear her. She hesitated before opening the door to the room the voices were coming from; if she remembered correctly, it was Matthew's dressing room. But she was desperate to tell them the good news, and opened it.

Mary heard the door open and jumped in surprise. She was helping Matthew with his daily stretching exercises. Matthew was lying on the bed and she was bending and stretching his legs, an attempt to minimise the wasting of the muscle and reduce spasticity. It had taken a few weeks for her to persuade Matthew to let her help him instead of William, since he hated her touching him where he couldn't feel it. But gradually, he had become accustomed to it, and it was now just part of their routine. They had not expected to be disturbed.

Mary gently put Matthew's leg back on the bed and turned to the door. She saw Sybil looking rather embarrassed at having walked in on them.

Matthew pushed himself into a sitting position and leaned back on the pillows. He felt rather embarrassed that Sybil had walked in on him like this. It made him feel pathetic and vulnerable. The exercises might reduce the spasticity, which could be the most embarrassing aspect of his condition, but nothing made him feel like more of a cripple than lying helpless on the bed while Mary moved the legs he couldn't feel or control.

"Sybil darling, there's such thing as knocking," Mary said, smiling at her sister to show she wasn't cross.

"I did, but you didn't hear. Sorry. I can come back…" Sybil replied.

"It's alright, we're finished," Matthew said, trying to forget his embarrassment. Sybil was a nurse. She had seen him in more embarrassing situations than this, and before his marriage, she had helped him with the very same exercises; it was ridiculous to find it embarrassing simply because it had been weeks since she had done so.

"What did you want to say that was so urgent?" Mary asked.

"Papa has given me his blessing to marry Tom. He said he realised there was nothing he could do to stop him and he didn't want to lose me," Sybil said excitedly. "Although he probably won't come to the wedding. It would have been nice for him to give me away."

"You're marrying the chauffeur. You can hardly expect him to be overjoyed," Mary said dryly. Sybil nodded sadly.

Sybil steeled herself. Should she ask if they would come to the wedding? She so desperately wanted her family there, but she saw it wouldn't be nice for Matthew to have to say he couldn't. She compromised.

"He won't forbid you or Edith though," she said, hoping Mary would start the conversation for her. Mary, however, showed no signs of doing so. "Will you come? You and Edith could be bridesmaids," Sybil said hopefully.

"I'll… think about it," Mary said, although she was thinking there was no chance she would leave Matthew even for a few days. She changed the subject. "I think we ought to get to know Bran- No, Tom - better, since he will soon become part of the family."

Sybil beamed.

"Come with me today. I'm meeting him for lunch in the Grantham Arms where he's staying. He wants to get to know you too. Oh yes, do come!" she implored.

"Won't he be disappointed not to have you to himself?" Matthew asked her, smiling.

Sybil blushed and shook her head.

"There'll be plenty of time to be together soon. When we're married. We're leaving at the end of this week, and then it will only be a couple of weeks while the banns are read. Oh please come!" she said.

"To have lunch in a public house?" Mary asked in astonishment. She had had it drilled into her that she should not eat in public. Even tea at the Ritz was barely permitted. And eating in a public house, with the man who used to be the chauffeur? It was ridiculous.

Matthew laughed at her.

"Come on Mary. New experiences are good for you. The food's rather good there too. You're the one who said you wanted to know Tom better. You never know, it may be fun!" he said.

"What will we tell everyone? What if somebody sees us?" Mary said worriedly.

"What's the worst that can happen?" Matthew asked her. "Within a few weeks, the whole county will know Lord Grantham's daughter has run off with the chauffeur anyway. What harm can we do really?"

Mary bit her lip as she saw the truth in what he said. Gossip spread frighteningly quickly. They couldn't hope to keep Sybil's marriage secret. Beside that, what did it matter if they were seen in a pub? And Matthew seemed so keen. He was still reluctant to go out anywhere where there were people, embarrassed by their stares and pitying looks. If he wanted to go out, she wasn't going to discourage him.

"Alright."

* * *

In the car, though, Mary began to regret her decision. What on earth would they talk about over lunch with the man who had been the chauffeur until a few weeks ago? And what about the other people who would be there? Would there be lots of drunk farm labourers?

Matthew guessed what she would be thinking and tightened his arm around her. She was grateful for his reassurance.

Since there were still so few people who had cars, they asked the new chauffeur, Stark, to stop a little way down from the pub so as not to draw attention to themselves.

This was really rather pointless, as the quality of the cut and material of their clothes made it obvious that they were wealthy. Even more conspicuous than the car and the clothes though was Matthew's wheelchair. During the war, people had become accustomed to injured soldiers. But now it was over and the hospital was back to normal, it made people stare. They could hardly have been more conspicuous and memorable.

It was too late to worry about that however. Sybil led the way into the pub confidently, and it was obvious to Matthew and Mary that she had met Tom secretly here several times in the past few weeks. Mary followed, pushing Matthew's chair, looking more at home and confident even than Sybil; she was good at presenting a calm and confident front to the world, whatever the situation. Inside though, she was irrationally terrified. She had never been anywhere like this before. She struggled to get the wheelchair over the threshold, certain that everyone was staring at her.

She finally managed it and saw that Sybil had found Tom sitting at a table in the corner of the room. It looked like the best place in the room to have a private conversation, but to get there, she had to manoeuvre the wheelchair past all the tables and chairs.

Matthew burned with embarrassment as Mary tried to get to the other side of the room. He saw the men staring at him with undisguised curiosity and looked down, wishing he hadn't been so enthusiastic about this. Mary would never have come if he hadn't persuaded her to.

He heard Mary mutter 'sorry' and bit his lip when he realised his legs had hit the corner of a table. Even after all these months, he was still surprised every time something happened that he knew ought to hurt but didn't. It was as if his legs were no longer part of his body. Would he ever get used to this?

They finally reached the table where Sybil and Tom were waiting. To anyone who didn't know her, Mary looked perfectly at ease, dignified and confident. But Matthew could see the stiff way she sat down and mechanically removed her hat and gloves, laying them far too neatly on the table in front of her. Clearly she was enjoying this about as much as he was. At least he now had his back to the rest of the pub, and could try to forget the stares that had followed them across the room.

"I hope you know how grateful I am to you for helping us, mi'lady, Mr Crawley," Branson began formally, forcing Mary and Matthew's minds back to the reason they were there in the first place. "Sybil says Lord Grantham gave us his blessing. We'd never have been given that if we had run off like we were thinking of doing before you two showed us sense. Thank you."

"You are welcome," Mary said stiffly. Then in a softer voice, she added, "and it's Mary and Matthew, now we are to be family. May we call you Tom?"

"Of course, mi'l… Mary," he said, laughing as he corrected himself. Sybil smiled.

"I hope you don't mind our preventing you having time alone with Sybil. We thought we should get to know each other a little better. We are to be brothers in law with high minded wives; we shall have to stick together," Matthew said to Tom, smiling at Mary and Sybil's identical looks of indignation. Tom laughed and nodded.

"Now I think we could do with drinks. The last beer I had was in France. Strangely enough, it's not served at Downton Abbey," Matthew said, causing all three of his companions to laugh at the thought of Carson serving beer.

They all began to forget the awkwardness and enjoy each other's company. Matthew and Tom found they had a lot in common, and talked animatedly about books, politics and books about politics. Sybil was overjoyed to see Tom being so easily accepted. Mary was happy to see Matthew so engaged in the conversation and enjoying himself. She knew that the one thing he missed about the army was the comradeship and the banter between the men. He didn't really know anyone his age in the area, and his only real friend here was William. When she thought about it, it was the same for her. Anna was her closest friend. She had her sisters, but Sybil was leaving and although she hadn't had any major disagreements or arguments with Edith recently, she would not go as far as to say that she their relationship was friendly.

She was sad when it suddenly hit her that Sybil would be in another country soon, leading another life. She would miss her. She forced herself back to the present and enjoyed their meal. To her surprise, the food was excellent. She even tried a sip of Matthew's beer, but didn't particularly like it.

She found she was rather disappointed when it was time to leave. They decided to do this again in a few days' time, just before Sybil and Tom would leave for Ireland.

* * *

"Go to the wedding," Matthew said to Mary as they lay in each other's arms naked after a passionate love making session.

"You tell me to go straight after showing me the great advantages of staying here with you? No, I can hardly bear to spend hours apart from you, never mind days," she replied.

"You managed it before we were married," he said rationally.

"That was before I knew about all the pleasures of married life," she said, turning to face him. "And besides, the very fact that we spent so much time apart is in itself a reason not to be apart again. I love you. We belong together," she said, stroking his face in a way that made it very difficult for him to tell her to go.

"It's only a few days, Mary. I wouldn't have married you if I thought for a minute that I would ever stop you doing anything. We have the rest of our lives together. Sybil will only get married once. She wants you there, Mary. You know Robert and Cora won't go. She needs someone from her family at her wedding. Go."

Mary saw the truth in Matthew's words, saw that Sybil needed her. But she simply couldn't bear the thought of leaving Matthew. She stroked the sensitive skin around his ears for a while in silence, then kissed him. As she drew away, she said,

"Are you sure you want me to go?" she asked softly. Matthew wished in that moment that neither of them would ever have to go anywhere, that they could simply stay here, in bed together, forever. But he needed her to agree. She should go, however much he wanted her to stay. He could not bear the thought that she would miss her sister's wedding because she was staying at home to look after her pathetic cripple of a husband.

"You promised to obey me, remember? You repeated the words after Travis. I'm ordering you to go. You have no choice," he teased her. "Go."

"Oh, don't tease me Matthew! I'm being serious. You can't honestly have thought that I would keep that vow anyway; you know me too well. But that's beside the point. Edith can go alone, Sybil will understand."

"Mary, you must not miss your sister's wedding! And Edith won't go alone, so Sybil will have none of her family members at her wedding. You'll regret it if you don't go, I know you will."

Mary was silent for a minute.

"Alright. I'll go. But I'll miss you so much, my darling. One day, we _will_ figure out a way for you to travel. We'll go all over the country together, all over the world if we like. We will," she said determinedly.

Matthew smiled sadly and shook his head. He wouldn't argue with her now, not now she had agreed to go. But he highly doubted they would ever travel all over the world together. _York_ seemed a long way away at the moment.

"Who knows what will happen in the future. But for now, I'm glad you will go to Ireland. Now, let's make the most of the time we have together before then," he said, and he found Mary's mouth in the darkness and kissed her again.

 _ **Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story; I love to hear what you think of it.**_

 _ **I have the rest of this story loosely planned now, and there are plenty more chapters to come. I hope you continue to enjoy it.**_


	19. Chapter 19

_Dearest Matthew,_

 _Please don't laugh when you realise who this is from. I know I'm only away for a few days, and it's quite possible I will arrive before this letter. But I have a feeling you'll understand._

 _Does it sound ridiculous for me to say that I miss you already? We're staying with Tom's sister, and since the house is rather cramped, I'm sharing a bed with Edith. Yes, I know that sounds rather unlikely, but it was that or the floor. And to be honest, I was not looking forward to sleeping alone._

 _The wedding was wonderful. It was of course very different from the wedding we all expected Sybil to have, but I don't think I've ever seen her happier than when she was standing at the altar with Tom. It was rather odd that the ceremony was Catholic. Edith and I felt rather out of place and lost, and of course we didn't understand a word of the Latin. I suppose you would have done, although I doubt it was anything terribly exciting._

 _The party afterwards was like nothing I've seen before. A few of Tom cousins (he seems to have an endless number of cousins) played Irish tunes on fiddles and drums, and everyone danced so wildly, I don't want to think how many drinks were knocked over. Edith, believe it or not, ended up so drunk, she was dancing on the table with another of Tom's cousins. It was so unlike her, but she looked as if she were having the time of her life._

 _I would be having the time of my life if you were here with me. I suppose I am glad you persuaded me to come, but it's been a couple of days and it feels like weeks since I last saw you. I dreamed of you the past two nights, and I sincerely hope Edith wasn't awake, because who knows what sounds I may have been making, considering precisely what I was dreaming of. I dreamed of our bed, and you with your clothes off and… well, I won't write any more in a letter. Just thinking about it is making me blush, and writing it feels like a step too far. Besides, I expect you will get the general idea._

 _I hope Mama and Papa aren't too upset, and I'm sorry it's just you there to deal with them._

 _I love you so much my darling, and I'm glad of each minute that passes, because it is a minute closer to when I will see you again. Even though it's only a few days, this is the longest we've been apart since you came home from France so many months ago._

 _I do hope this letter reaches you before I do._

 _All my love,_

 _Mary_

* * *

Matthew waited in the car, which was parked outside the station, hardly able to contain his excitement. It had been only four days, but he had missed Mary terribly. He felt as if he were only half himself without her.

It had been strange sleeping in his dressing room. He only slept there once until now, and it really had been just a dressing room. But he had not wanted to sleep in their wonderful four poster bed without Mary; it would have felt wrong.

The atmosphere in the house had been strange too. There was only him, Cora and Robert (not counting the servants) and Robert and Cora had both been quiet, knowing that Sybil was marrying the chauffeur, throwing away the life she had been born to and beginning another, very different one. None of them seemed to know what to do with themselves all day.

Matthew had, on the second day, decided to occupy himself with looking at the estate maps and documents. He read in detail the accounts and deeds, and began to feel a rising concern for the future of the estate.

For Robert seemed to be totally oblivious to the fact that money was no longer abundant, and that even country estates needed to make profit for everyone living on them, as well as the landowner, to prosper. Matthew was shocked to see how much waste there seemed to be. The world was moving on after the war, but Robert was clearly not moving with it. And worst of all, Matthew saw that Robert had invested a nearly all the money in one company, one that Matthew would not have invested anything at all in. He kept reminding himself that it was not his business. The estate was Robert's, the decisions were Robert's.

But Robert had asked him to look through everything, and he could hardly let this go without saying anything. Robert seemed to be being wilfully blind to the need for profit and good management. The more Matthew saw and understood, the more he worried. He had determined that he must speak to Robert, and at the very least persuade him to sell some of his shares in that Canadian railway company that looked rather uncertain to Matthew. He had read everything he could about it, and the more he found out, the more worried he became.

But he had decided to wait for Mary's return to ask her advice on approaching her father. He didn't want to seem to be interfering. Yet it looked as if someone needed to interfere soon, or they may find themselves in trouble.

Matthew sighed. That could wait. The train carrying his wife would arrive any minute, and he would not ruin their reunion with his worries about the estate.

He heard the distant sound of the approaching train and sat up straighter. He was looking forward to surprising Mary. She would be expecting just the chauffeur.

The train came closer and closer, the noise betting louder and louder and then it stopped, and he saw a cloud of thick white steam rising up from the platform. Matthew smiled. All the better to surprise her. He imagined the doors opening and all the people stepping out of the train. He saw in his mind's eye Mary stepping out and smoothing down her coat, then finding Anna and coming towards where she would know the car was waiting.

Then he caught sight of her emerging from the station with Edith by her side and Anna following behind. She was wearing a dark red coat and hat, and although it was not the same, it reminded him of that day in 1916 when she had risen at the crack of dawn to see him off at the station and to give him her lucky charm. He remembered that chaste kiss she had given him on his cheek, which may have seemed innocent, but which set him on fire with love and desire for her. _'_ _Such good luck'._

Mary was clearly deeply absorbed in a conversation with Edith, and aside from seeing the car where she expected it to be, she didn't really seem to notice it. Then Edith saw him and nudged Mary, who looked up, saw him, gave a wordless cry of delight and surprise and quickened her pace. She wanted so much to run, but would never have done something so undignified in a public place. The chauffeur opened the door for her and she stepped into the car. Matthew pulled her closer to him and kissed her, oblivious to the other people coming in and out of the busy station; surely they wouldn't be looking what was going on in a car anyway?

"Matthew! All these people… later, not here!" but her protests were half-hearted and she allowed herself to be pulled close and kissed properly, ignoring the people passing them. It had been four days, but had felt like forever.

They might have remained like that for a long time, but Edith and Anna had reached the car. Edith cleared her throat loudly. Mary slowly drew away, smiling.

"What a lovely surprise, my darling," she said in his ear, her breath tickling him, making him wish they were somewhere more private so they could…

Mary sat up straight and adjusted her hat, which had been knocked to an angle in their embrace, the perfect dignified Lady again.

"How was it?" he asked.

"Different," Mary replied. "Tom's family are… interesting. Did you get my letter?"

"This morning. It did make me laugh," Matthew said, and he looked quickly at Edith, imaging her dancing wildly on a table. Mary caught his glance, and they both had to smother laughter.

"We'd better go. We can't just sit around in the car all day," Edith said, tired from the journey, and feeling shut out of Mary and Matthew's private world as she always did.

Edith chattered away about the wedding and Dublin on the way home, but Matthew was finding it very difficult to pay any attention to anything except Mary. He was desperate to get home and be alone with her. He could hear about the wedding later.

Edith could see this only too well. She should have got used to being ignored next to Mary by now, she thought. And it was more forgivable and understandable with Mary's husband than with everyone else who found Mary more interesting than her.

She quietened down when they reached the house, however, realising that her parents weren't likely to want to hear all about their daughter's wedding to the chauffeur.

They went into the house quietly. Robert and Cora had heard the car and came out of the room where they had been sitting.

"How was it?" Robert asked stiffly.

"It was lovely, actually. The wedding was in a pretty little church near Tom's mother's house. It was small but Sybil and Tom looked very happy," Mary replied defiantly.

Robert nodded.

"You must be tired, both of you. Come and have some tea," Cora said cheerfully.

They went and had tea and told Cora every detail of the wedding. She might not be happy with her daughter's choice of husband, but she still loved weddings and loved Sybil. Robert sat in silence listening for a while, then got up and muttered something about going for a walk.

"He'll get used to the idea," Cora said hopefully. "It's too late to undo it now, so he may as well accept it. Tom's a journalist now, that's better than a chauffeur. He will come around."

Now Robert had left, Mary and Matthew felt they could politely go to their room. Cora smiled after them. Edith frowned; they could be a little more discreet. They were far too obviously in love with each other.

It didn't take Matthew and Mary long to be on their bed with the curtains closed, shutting them into their own little world.

"I'm never leaving you again," Mary whispered, taking Matthew's jacket off.

"I gave you no choice in the matter, remember?" he replied, pushing Mary down so she was lying on her back, then leaning over her and kissing her.

* * *

As they lay half-dressed on the bed after showing each other very thoroughly how much they had missed each other, Mary asked,

"So what have you found to do with yourself without me?"

Matthew sighed. He wasn't sure he wanted to ruin the moment with his concerns about the estate. But this conversation had to be had, and he Mary knew him too well for him to hide his concerns for long.

"I've been looking at the running of the estate again," he said.

Mary caught the worried note in his voice and looked him in the eyes.

"You're worried about something," she said.

"Don't think I'm criticizing anyone, Mary, I'm not. But really, everything is being run as it was fifty years ago. The world is moving on, we must all move with it. And then there is this investment. I'm not questioning his judgement, I'm sure he knows what he's doing, but Robert has invested almost all the money in some Canadian railway company. I would never think it a good idea to invest so much in one company, and well…"

"Yes?" Mary asked anxiously.

"I've looked into it a bit, and it seems there is some concern about the management of the company. And with so much of Cora's money invested in it, the whole future of the estate depends on what happens."

"You mean… we could lose everything if something goes wrong? And you think there's a chance it _will_ all go wrong?" Mary said worriedly.

"That's about it, yes," Matthew replied, then waited nervously for her response.

"I'm… I'm sure Papa and Murray know what they're doing," she said, trying to sound as confident as she should be feeling.

"I'm sure you're right, but still, I'd like to talk to Robert about it. Do you think he'll take offence?"

"Yes, probably, if you're questioning his judgement," Mary said a little crossly. She wanted to defend her father, to have complete faith in him. But she didn't know enough about these matters to be certain, and she trusted Matthew as much as she did her father.

"I just said I _wasn't_ questioning anyone's judgement!" Matthew said, equally angry.

"But that is just what you are doing!" cried Mary. Then she took a deep breath and controlled herself. "I'm sorry, I don't know why I lost my temper. I just want to be loyal to Papa, I want to be able to trust him unquestioningly as I have all my life. But at the same time, I trust you and know you only want to do what is best. Of course you must speak to Papa. Just… be gentle."

"Of course I will."

Mary smiled gratefully at him. She doubted Papa would take his interference well, but if what Matthew said was right, which she thought it probably was, then it was necessary. It was strange and unsettling to begin to realise that Papa's judgement was not necessarily always right.

* * *

Matthew decided to speak to Robert after dinner when they would be alone. Mary watched him as they ate, aware of his nervousness and the reason for it. She wished it didn't have to come after the blow of Sybil's wedding, but if it really was as serious as Matthew thought…

When Cora rose to leave the table, Mary gave Matthew's hand a quick reassuring squeeze under the table, then got up to go. She almost wished she could stay, be involved in what was going on. But she followed her mother out of the room looking as if nothing was wrong.

Matthew waited a minute before beginning the difficult conversation, while the table cloth was removed and the brandy and cigars put on the table for them. He took a long drink from his glass, then set it down and looked at Robert.

"I've been looking at the estate finances like you asked, having had more time in the last few days," he began, and Robert smiled.

"And can you make anything of it all? I know I can't make head nor tail of most of that legal jargon and seemingly ancient documents. But I suppose you're used to it."

"Yes, it's complicated, but it does make sense to me; I've seen worse, and writing and reading those long documents full of 'legal jargon' as you put it, was my job. But… I was looking at the investments and well… I'm not questioning your judgement, or Murray's, I'm sure you know what you're doing, but I saw you had invested most of the money, of Cora's fortune in one company." Matthew looked nervously at Robert, hoping he was going about this the right way.

"Yes, that Canadian railway thing. Everyone knew before the war that hard times were coming for estates like Downton. The war would mean an extension in railways everywhere; everyone was certain it was a good investment," Robert said certainly, wondering where Matthew was going with this.

"Yes, I know, everyone was talking about it. But all that money, in one company? Was it your idea or Murray's?" Matthew asked.

"Mine. I had heard it would make the future secure for us. It was safe, the safest there was. I do remember Murray being over cautious though. I'd forgotten all about that, to be honest. What was it you wanted to say?"

Matthew took another sip of brandy and pressed his lips together. He had to make Robert understand.

"The war is over now. And it doesn't look as if the value of the shares had increased, or that it is set to increase. I don't claim to be an expert, but if it were me, I would sell the shares and invest in something else. I have heard the company is not being well managed. I can't know, but I can see things going badly wrong in the future. Even selling half the shares would provide some security. I'm not telling you what to do, but I can't leave this. At least speak to Murray. I may be speaking nonsense, but I don't think so."

Robert looked hard at Matthew, frowning slightly. He had been running this estate successful since the death of his father. Matthew may be his heir, but he wasn't dead yet, and he thought he could manage his estate well enough without the help of a city-bred middle-class lawyer.

"You say yourself you are no expert. Truly, Matthew, I have enough experience of running the estate to know what I'm doing."

"Yes, but the world is a different place now. The war has changed things. I don't doubt you know what you're doing; you've run the estate successfully for many years, and I know I wasn't brought up here like you. But I have dealt with shares for clients before, and really, this does not relate directly to the estate. Honestly Robert, I would never have advised any client to invest so heavily in one company, even if it looked like the safest investment in the world. You know as well as I do that Downton is not self-sufficient. Cora's money is essential to the running of the estate and the maintenance of your way of life."

"Do you think I don't know that?" Robert shouted. "Do you think you know more about my estate than I do? I have spent my life trying to ensure that my heir doesn't have to marry money to save the estate like I did. I have been assured by several people that this investment will protect us for the future, and that is what I am determined to do."

Matthew sighed. He had not wanted an argument, and he suspected he had not really said what he had meant to say quite right.

"I know, Robert, I know you want to protect the estate for the future. But the best way to do that is not to hang all your hopes on one investment. I know you want the best for the estate, but so do I. You asked me to look at it all, and I have, and this is what I think. Please, at least speak with Murray."

Robert was about to snap at Matthew again; why on earth did Matthew think he knew better, and why did he think he had the right to say so?

But then he thought of what Murray had said years ago, his concern and uncertainty. Murray had advised him not to put all the money into anything, however secure it seemed. But that was just typical cautious lawyers, wasn't it? And wasn't Matthew just the same?

Somehow though, there was such real concern and sincerity in Matthew's eyes, Robert couldn't believe this. And he had been the one to ask Matthew to look through everything because he thought a lawyer would find it easier to understand. Yes, he trusted Matthew. He trusted Murray, but only as a lawyer. Matthew was like a son to him, and if both he and Murray were in agreement…

Matthew sipped his brandy in silence, watching Robert think. Surely Robert would see the sense in talking to Murray at least.

Robert finally made his decision.

"You're right. I should at least telephone Murray. Even if it does no good, it can do no harm. I can see the sense in what you say," Robert eventually said resignedly, pouring more brandy for himself and Matthew.

Matthew was astonished at how well that had gone. He had expected resistance, anger, resentment. But it seemed that Robert was prepared to listen to him. He only hoped Robert would act on his advice. He was fairly certain that Murray would repeat what he had told Robert.

"What about the estate itself?" Robert asked after a minute of silence, taking Matthew by surprise. He had thought Robert might have had enough of his opinions and interference for one night, but apparently not.

"I can't pretend to know an awful lot about running country estates," Matthew said. "Everything I do know, you taught me. But it does seem as if… well, as if opportunities are being lost to make profit."

Robert frowned.

"This is an estate, not a business. Our purpose isn't to make profit. We must be fair to everyone who lives here. We provide employment for hundreds of people."

Matthew only just prevented himself from sighing in exasperation.

"It doesn't have to be at the expense of anyone. Surely if the estate prospers, then so do the tenants. The world is moving forward, and we must move with it or fall behind," he said, trying to remain calm and sensible.

Robert again felt the horrible sensation of drowning in the great wave of change. He was not made for this new world; he had been perfectly happy with the old one. He sighed for the lost carefree days before the war.

"Very well. Explain what you mean in detail tomorrow. I'll telephone Murray in the morning. I'm too tired for this tonight."

"I understand. Thank you for trusting me with this, Robert. I don't mean to interfere, I just want what is best for everyone," Matthew said, glad the conversation was over and pleased that it had gone well.

"My dear boy, as I told you years ago, I brought you here to interfere. You are my heir and now my son in law. I might not agree with you, but I will listen to your views. Although I make no promises to act on them."

They talked about other, less serious and important matters for a while, before Robert rose and declared that it was time they went through to the ladies. Matthew nodded, glad he had good news to tell Mary.

She looked questioningly at him as he entered the drawing room. He smiled and she felt a weight lift from her. She had been struggling to follow Mama and Edith's conversation, worrying about what was going on in the dining room between Papa and Matthew.

Matthew came over to her and they sat very close to each other and spoke in low voices so as not to be overheard.

"It went alright? Papa doesn't look too heartbroken," Mary said.

Matthew nodded.

"It went better than I thought it would. Robert is going to telephone Murray in the morning, and then allow me to explain my ideas and concerns to him later. I'm afraid I'll be in bed late tonight; I want to be sure I know what I'm talking about or I won't be able to make a very good case. You shouldn't wait up for me. I can sleep in my dressing room. I've slept there the last few nights."

"You would miss our first night together again? For work? You truly are an atrocious husband," Mary said teasingly, only just containing her laughter. "Anyway, you won't need to sleep in your dressing room."

"I don't want to wake you. I don't know what time I'll finish."

"You won't wake me because I won't be sleeping. I'm staying up with you. You said so before, I know the estate better than you do. You need me. I want to be involved in this. This is my home. I want to understand it all. I may not be a man, but that does not mean I am stupid or that I would rather think about dresses and parties and child…" she broke off and blushed.

"Children," Matthew finished for her, his expression darkening.

"Yes," she said quietly. They were silent for a minute, hearing the conversation the rest of the family was having, but not really listening.

Then Mary spoke.

"So I will stay up and help you, and you will sleep with me in our bed. Don't you dare argue with me, Matthew Crawley."

Matthew mentally shook himself. There was no point thinking about children. There was nothing they could do about it, so it was not worth worrying about. And he was very glad that he would have Mary's company that night. It would be less arduous, perhaps even interesting, with her at his side. And she had a perfect right to be involved in the estate. It would have been hers had she been born a boy, and she was intelligent and useful to him. He vowed that he would allow her to always be as involved as himself in the estate when it was theirs. She was not Cora or Violet. She was Mary, magnificent and unique.

The whole family retired early that evening, and Mary and Matthew settled themselves at the table in their sitting room with maps and papers spread out in front of them. They were dressed in their night clothes and dressing gowns so Anna and William could go to bed a reasonable hour, since they would not have the luxury of a lie-in the next morning.

They sat up together for hours before they were satisfied that Matthew was ready for his conversation with Robert the next day.

"I just wish I knew the estate better," Matthew said, frustrated at how little he knew, despite Robert's training before the war; a couple of years could not make up for the fact that he hadn't grown up here.

"You will in time," Mary reassured him, standing up and yawning.

"Really, I need to visit the farms, see the land and get to know it properly."

"Then do it," Mary told him.

"How? I can hardly go on all those long walks Robert takes around the estate so regularly."

"Go in the car. Drive around the estate. We can go together. It may even turn out to be rather enjoyable," Mary suggested, suddenly energetic again, enthusiastic about the idea.

Matthew caught her enthusiasm.

"Yes. Yes that sounds like an excellent plan. And it's summer now, or near enough. It will be nice to drive about the countryside in the sun," he said.

Mary smiled excitedly as she went behind Matthew's chair and pulled it away from the table then pushed it into the bedroom. She helped Matthew onto the bed and lay down with him, pulling the covers up over them then laying her head on his chest.

They continued to make plans for their estate tours for a few minutes, until Matthew realised he was talking to himself; Mary had fallen asleep. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the even rise and fall of her breathing and the feeling of her warm body resting on his.

Even if it did involve disagreements with Robert, he would do everything he could to make sure the estate was safe. He knew how important it was to Mary, and what was important to her was now equally important to him. Robert had listened to him far more willingly than he expected, and although their conversation had not been easy, it had been better than it might have been, and Matthew went to sleep hopeful for the future.

 _ **I did do some research into the Canadian Grand Trunk Railway, but I'm not an expert at that sort of thing, so sorry if there's anything that isn't quite right. I've tried to be vague rather than wrong, so I hope it's alright.**_


	20. Chapter 20

Mary opened the library door and walked over to where Matthew was sitting by the table, tidying some papers. She came up behind him and began to massage his shoulders. He sighed with pleasure as Mary's massage relieved the tension in his muscles, giving up on the papers and relaxing back in his chair.

"How did it go?" she asked.

"As well as can be expected. Thankfully, Murray agreed with me about that investment. Robert's going to London soon to meet him and discuss it. He listened to what I said about the estate, but I don't think he'll do anything. We should begin our drives around the estate soon. I will learn more about it, then come up with some clear and simple plans that don't sound too exciting or modern."

Mary laughed a little.

"Let's go out in the garden. It looks glorious in the sunshine. I've had enough of papers and maps. Let's get some fresh air," Matthew said.

"Alright," Mary readily agreed, and they went out.

Robert watched them from a window, smiling to himself despite his worries. He remembered watching them like this months ago, when the war was still going on and the house was full of injured officers. He remembered the sadness he had felt watching them together, thinking there was no hope for them, with them both engaged to other people. He remembered the sadness he used to feel whenever he looked at Matthew in his wheelchair and Matthew's own unhappiness.

Now he watched them together happily married. Somehow, everything had come out alright. Even Matthew's disability seemed somehow less important, and sometimes Robert even forgot.

Except for the issue of the heir. That he could never forget. He told himself he ought not to worry about it; it would hopefully be many years before he died and many more before Matthew did. And he had always thought of Downton as his fourth child, but now, Matthew was his fourth child, and the estate had become his fifth. Mary and Matthew's happiness came before the estate, and it felt so wrong to even begin to look for the next heir. It was not worth it; there would be plenty of time for that when the time was right, although when precisely that would be was rather vague in his mind.

Perhaps, he thought cynically, there will be no estate by then. He had understood only about half of what Matthew had talked to him about earlier, and agreed with only about half of that. But he did agree with the general principal that times were changing, and changing in a way that was not good for great estates like Downton.

He really did need to talk to Murray, he supposed. He would go in the next few days.

Cora came into the room and came to stand beside him at the window. He reached out to put his arm around her.

"They do look happy, don't they," she said. "I never thought they would be, but they really do seem to be. It's not what I wanted for her, but I suppose after what happened with… well, she was hardly going to get a better offer. Gossip always gets around, and then there was the threat that Sir Richard would publish…"

"It is everything I wanted for her: happiness, love and security. And there would be no such thing as a better offer. Surely you must see that they would only ever have been happy with each other," Robert said, tired of this argument.

"I do see that, Robert, and I am so very happy for them. I just… worry. I'm a mother, I can't help it. It's just sad that Mary will never have a child of her own to worry about and love. But you are right; I do see how right they are together.

"Even so, I think we ought to make a real effort for Edith. Now the other two are settled, it really is her turn. We rather neglected her in our desperation to find a husband for Mary. We should have at least one daughter married properly. We didn't even go to Sybil's wedding, and Mary married in such a hurry and with such a quiet ceremony," she said.

Robert supposed she was right. It was always going to be Edith who would find it most difficult and it really was her turn after all the effort they had put into securing Mary's future.

"I suppose we could invite Anthony Strallen for dinner," Robert said doubtfully. He still wasn't sure about Edith marrying a man as old as he was. And Sir Anthony was hardly young and interesting for his age. Robert suspected Edith was only keen on him because he took an interest in her rather than Mary. Cora, however, seemed keen enough on him.

"And what about Evelyn Napier?" Cora asked.

"Wasn't he more interested in Mary?" Robert asked, trying to remember the young man who had come for the hunt all those years ago. He shuddered as he remembered the Turkish diplomat who had come with him and all the trouble he had caused.

"Well it didn't work out between them, and maybe with Mary out of the way, Edith will seem a more attractive prospect. At least there's not much chance of her finding him boring like Mary did."

"No, not if she's contemplating Anthony Strallen. What happened between Edith and Sir Anthony though? They seemed to spend so much time together. I even suspected he might be going to propose at the garden party. But I haven't seen or heard anything of him since then."

"There's been a war on Robert. Nobody's had much time. We should invite him for dinner next week," Cora told him.

Robert sighed.

"Won't it be rather obvious what we're doing?" he asked sceptically.

Cora smiled and tightened her arm around him.

"Possibly. But he did seem very keen on Edith before. He might be pleased to have a reason to renew his addresses to her."

"I'm sure you know best. Yes, alright, we shall invite him. Mama and Isobel ought to come too, or it will be rather awkward," Robert said.

Cora kissed his cheek then left. Robert stayed where he was, watching his daughter and son-in-law, feeling contented and proud.

* * *

Edith looked at herself in the mirror and pinched her cheeks, trying to give her pale face some colour. She was terrified. She had not seen Anthony since that horrible garden party. She knew he had been in the army, despite his age. She needed to explain what had happened that day, that it was Mary's fault, that she still loved him and wanted him to ask the question he had been going to ask that day.

Did he still feel the same about her? Had he moved on, found someone else? Was he still angry about what had happened at the party?

She could hardly believe that Anthony would be here in the next half an hour. She had waited so long for this. And now Mary was married, there was nobody to interfere. The fear she felt mixed with hope. Once she explained, surely Anthony would just laugh and they could go back to how they had been before the war.

She had put on her newest and favourite dress and had spent much longer than usual getting ready. Now her hair was done and she was ready. She knew she wasn't as beautiful as Mary and Sybil. But it was her Anthony had been going to propose to, and the other two were out of the way anyway. Anthony could see her for who she was, not as Mary's younger and less beautiful sister. Anthony saw Edith, the real Edith, and for that as much as anything else, she loved him.

Mary sat in front of her mirror just downstairs and felt equally nervous. She had confided in Matthew, having agreed with him when they married never to have secrets from each other. She had told him what she had done that day and why. He had understood why she had done what she had done, and had been much angrier at Edith for what she had done than he was at Mary for getting her revenge.

But he had told her she must end this constant fighting with Edith. And to her surprise, she found she agreed with him. Now she was happy, she didn't begrudge Edith her happiness. She doubted they would get on for long, but this feud between them had gone on long enough.

Matthew had told her she ought to speak to Sir Anthony and confess what she had done at the garden party, but not tell him why. She would give some vague suggestion of a disagreement between her and Edith, but wouldn't go into detail.

She planned to catch Sir Anthony before he met the rest of the family, speak to him in private so the first time he saw Edith, he would know that what had happened had not been her fault.

Anna, who knew everything and agreed with Matthew's suggestion, had dressed Mary in silence, allowing Mary time to think about what she was going to say. Now she was just putting the finishing touches to Mary's hair.

Since Bates' arrest, Anna had always been filled with a deep melancholy and was wearing a constant faint worried frown. There had been no developments in Bates' case, and he was still being held in prison. The trial would not be for months yet. Anna continued to work as she always had, but she found it more difficult to be involved in the girls' lives when her own was in such a mess. She tried to help Mary as she always had, but although she did give her advice on matters like this, it was usually Mary who was asking her whether she was alright, and listening to her talk. Whenever she thought about it too hard, it was quite strange that she was confiding in Lady Mary. But it was such a relief to talk to someone, and when she was alone with Mary, she saw her as a friend rather than as her employer.

Mary smiled her thanks to Anna as Anna finished her hair and stood back a little.

"You're doing the right thing, Mary," Anna said reassuringly as she saw Mary's nervousness. Apologising and explaining was something Mary was not accustomed to doing.

"I know," Mary replied.

The door opened and Matthew came in.

"Thank you Anna," Mary said and Anna left.

Matthew wheeled himself closer to Mary.

"Are you ready?" he asked gently.

"I suppose so. I ought to be careful; with you telling me what to do, people might start to think I'm a nice person."

"You are a nice person. My Mary is the real Mary. I'm just helping you show her to the rest of the world without being afraid," Matthew said firmly.

Mary bent down and kissed him.

"I love you so much, Matthew. You do make me a better person, and a happier one. Yes, I am ready. I should go now, in case he arrives early." She kissed him quickly again, then left.

Matthew looked after her, proud of her. He understood why Mary had done what she had; what Edith had done was truly cruel. He was so pleased that Mary was willing to forgive Edith and make things right.

He left the room and went to join the rest of the family, who would probably be down by now.

* * *

Mary's heart pounded as she saw the car approaching. She was waiting by the door, trying to look calm and composed, and rehearsing what she was going to say in her mind.

The car drew up by the door, and the chauffeur got out and went to open the door. Sir Anthony stepped out, and Mary thought something looked a little odd. She looked at him more closely, and saw that his right arm was held up in a sort of sling. She frowned a little. Had he had some sort of accident, hunting perhaps? Or had he been injured in the war? The second option seemed the most likely, she supposed.

He walked over towards the door, and she stepped out.

"Sir Anthony. It is so nice to see you. It has been so long," she said brightly, not holding out her hand, as she assumed he wouldn't be able to shake it.

"Lady Mary!" he exclaimed, surprised. He had been hoping Edith might be waiting for him. But that was ridiculous, he told himself. He had not seen nor heard from her since the day of the garden party, the day the war began. And on that day, she had been laughing at him, and trying to avoid him. It almost physically hurt to think about it. He supposed it was good that he had never proposed that day. It would have been humiliating for her to refuse.

But at the same time, he had been so sure she felt the same as he did. Now it was obvious he had been wrong, but how had he so badly misread the signs?

He forced himself to be polite to Lady Mary and try to hide his curiosity. He couldn't understand why Lady Mary would be waiting for him like this.

"I… I need to talk to you. Alone. I'm sorry, I know it's rather unusual, but I have something important to tell you. Please, come with me," she said, pleased to hear that her voice sounded perfectly calm.

Sir Anthony followed her, even more confused. What on earth could Lady Mary have to say to him?

She led him into a room that looked like the breakfast room.

"We won't be disturbed in here," she said. "Please, sit down," she said, taking a seat herself. Sir Anthony sat, still bewildered.

"I know this is rather strange, Sir Anthony, but I feel I need to explain something to you, before you meet Edith," Mary began. Sir Anthony stared at her, but stayed silent, waiting for her to continue.

"That day, at the garden party. I told you Edith was trying to avoid you. I know you meant to propose that day. Edith wasn't trying to avoid you. She... she wanted you to propose very much. I… we… that is, Edith and me, we… don't get on very well. She did something to me, and I was very angry with her. I couldn't bear the thought of her finding happiness. So I lied. I'm sorry," she said, her calm voice losing some of its confidence towards the end.

Sir Anthony continued to stare at her. Did this mean…? Had Edith felt the same as he did? Was Lady Mary capable of being so cruel?

"What did she do to make you so angry?" he said quietly, needing to understand.

Mary swallowed. She couldn't tell him without giving away her secret.

"I can't tell you. I'm sorry. But it's all behind us now. I felt at the time that she deserved it. But I'm afraid I didn't think of you. Truly, I am sorry. I understand if you hate me, Edith probably does. But you know the truth now. I'm not telling you what to do, it is none of my business. But I believe Edith truly loves you. At least now when you see her, you know the truth."

This was almost too much for Sir Anthony to take in. Edith loved him. Lady Edith Crawley loved him. He was half tempted to go and propose to her right now.

Then he remembered that she hadn't seen him yet. She didn't know about his arm. Lady Mary had hardly seemed to notice, which was unusual. But he was no longer the man he was before. He was an old cripple, and no fit husband for a lady as young, bright and beautiful as Edith. Perhaps it was a good thing they had not married before. At least now Edith was not tied to a pathetic cripple for the rest of her days, doomed to be his nursemaid forever. Yes, it was certainly a good thing they were not bound together in marriage now.

He was tempted to leave now, claim illness so as not to have to face Edith. In all likelihood, she would not love him anymore now, but there was a risk she might feel bound to act the same as she always had to him. And he wouldn't marry that sweet young lady now, he couldn't. He was fit for nothing now. He could barely write his own name with his left hand. And he was so much older than her anyway. He was much closer to Lord Grantham's age than Edith's.

But he knew it would be unforgivably rude and cowardly to leave. He looked Lady Mary in the eye and said,

"I doubt she'll love me now," he said, gesturing to his right arm, which hung limp and useless in its sling.

Mary looked at him unusually kindly.

"Did that happen in the war?" she asked softly.

Sir Anthony searched her face for traces of pity or revulsion, but to his surprise, found none.

"I took a bullet in the wrong place. It seems to have knocked out my right arm. For good."

"And why would that change how she feels about you?" Mary asked, her voice still unusually soft and kind.

"Why? Because I am a pathetic cripple, old enough to be her father. Why would she love me now? And even if she did, I am no fit husband for her now," he asked hopelessly.

"You have always been old enough to be her father, and that didn't stop her loving you before. And it's only your arm. You are still the same person. I doubt Edith loved you for your right arm, so I doubt that will alter her feelings in any way. And I'm afraid I fail to see how this makes you an unfit husband."

Mary was sympathetic, but also angry. Did all men think that women's feeling were so weak and fickle that something like this could change them? And she almost felt as if Sir Anthony was in some was insulting Matthew by calling himself a pathetic cripple. Matthew's disability was far more serious than Sir Anthony's. If Sir Anthony thought the loss of the use of one arm made him unfit to be a husband, then what did that mean he would think about Matthew's fitness to be a husband?

"You must see I don't wish to condemn Edith to the life of a nursemaid. I am too fond of her for that. I can't bear the thought of her being tied to me forever, forced to look after me. No, I can't do that," Sir Anthony said sadly.

Mary was on the verge of losing her temper completely. She had heard this a hundred times before from Matthew, and Matthew required more looking after than Sir Anthony would.

"I suppose you must have heard that I was married in April? I assume you didn't come because you wanted to avoid Edith," she said, her voice markedly less soft and kind.

Sir Anthony nodded.

"Yes, I'm sorry. Congratulations."

"I assume you have also heard that Matthew was injured in the war? Everyone else seems to have heard," Mary continued in the same tone.

Sir Anthony caught the note of anger in her voice and felt as if he had done something, said something wrong.

"Yes, I had heard," he said, trying to remember precisely what he had heard about Lord Grantham's heir, and now Lady Mary's husband.

"We are happily married. I love him and he loves me. I cannot imagine a better husband. Yet I expect that your definition of a man who is 'fit' to be a husband would not include him. He broke his back in the war. He can't…" Mary stopped and took a deep breath to steady herself. "He is paralyzed from the waist down. He can't, walk, and I expect by your definition, he is more of a cripple than you. But he is the best man I know, and I cannot think of a man more 'fit' to be a husband. Do you suggest that my husband is a cripple and that I am living the life of a nursemaid? Because that is what it sounds like."

Mary was almost shouting by the time she finished, although she just about kept her voice down so they would not be overheard.

Sir Anthony looked at the floor and felt his cheeks burning with the unfamiliar sensation of blushing. How could he have been so stupid, so insensitive? Of course he remembered now about Matthew Crawley's injury. It had been big news in the county, that the Earl's heir was crippled. And there were rumours that there would not be another heir either…

He glanced up at Lady Mary and felt terribly ashamed. How could he have done this to her? How could he have forgotten?

"I'm sorry, Lady Mary," he stammered. "I forgot about… I didn't mean… All I was saying was that…" He found he could not find the words to finish a simple sentence.

Mary was slowly calming down, and thinking that perhaps she had overreacted. She was aware that Sir Anthony had not meant any offence or insult to anyone but himself. She knew this, and yet still she could not forgive him. She saw his depressed and hopeless attitude as self-pity, and she despised it.

"Come. They will be wondering where we are," she said tersely, and stood up. Sir Anthony followed suit, and nodded for her to precede through the door. She walked quickly to sitting room where the rest of the family were.

They acted as if Sir Anthony had just arrived and the rest of the family seemed to accept it, with the exception of Violet, who gave Mary a searching look which Mary pretended not to see.

Mary was about to go and sit near Matthew so she could tell him that she had done what she said she would, but her grandmother said loudly,

"Come and sit here, Mary. I haven't seen you very much lately."

Mary had no choice but to sit next to her.

"Sir Anthony was rather late, was he not?" Violet said. "Did you meet him at the door? We wondered where you were."

Mary didn't reply. She was still not quite calm, and was not in the mood for an interrogation.

Violet gave Mary another piercing look, but then was thankfully distracted by Sir Anthony's arm. Edith was interrogating him about it, and Cora was trying to catch Robert's eye to tell him that she was no longer keen on Edith's marrying Sir Anthony. Isobel was interested from a medical point of view. Mary began to feel rather sorry for Sir Anthony, and her anger began to dissipate.

She judged that she could probably leave her grandmother and go to Matthew. She rose quietly and went over to where he was sitting, alone after Isobel had gone to investigate Sir Anthony's arm.

"I've done it," she said as she sat down.

"Well done, my darling," Matthew said warmly. Then he looked at her hard and said, "Are you alright? Was it horrible? You look shaken."

Mary bit her lip. She couldn't tell him why she was angry, couldn't tell him about what she and Sir Anthony had argued about.

"It wasn't ever going to be easy to tell him that it was my fault that he thought Edith didn't love him. I'm glad it's over," she said. She wasn't lying, but even withholding the details of the conversation from Matthew felt wrong. Perhaps she would tell him later, when they were alone.

Matthew looked at her sharply, but left it at that.

Robert saved Mary from having to continue the conversation. He announced that since they were all there now, they should go through to the dining room. They all rose and went through.

Mary thought that Edith was making rather a fool of herself over dinner, fawning over Sir Anthony and almost ignoring everyone else.

But Edith was enjoying herself more than she remembered ever having enjoyed herself at a dinner party. Sir Anthony seemed to truly be interested in what she said. She was puzzled about his attitude towards her. He was kinder than she had expected after what happened the last time they met. But at the same time, it was as if there was a new distance between them. Perhaps it was the war, or the years spent apart, or the memory of what split them apart in the first place, but although Anthony was kind and courteous toward her, his manner had a certain reserve which Edith didn't remember being there before.

Edith was sad when she had to follow the ladies through to the drawing room, not wanting to leave Anthony's company. She also wanted to explain what had happened at the garden party to him.

When the men came through, Mary rolled her eyes as Edith stood up for no good reason, then, feeling foolish, sat down again, calling to Sir Anthony to come and sit with her. Matthew saw Mary's reaction and looked at her sternly.

"She hasn't seen him for over four years, Mary. Let her be."

Mary looked at him and nodded. She realised how irrational her attitude to Edith was. She found it impossible to explain the way that everything Edith said or did seemed to irritate or anger her. It had been like this for so long between them, she couldn't have said when it started. But Matthew made her see the pointlessness of it, and she tried to ignore Edith.

* * *

Later, when they were lying in bed, Mary was quiet, still thinking of her conversation with Sir Anthony. For once she was on Edith's side and wanted to help her sister.

Matthew could see that something was troubling Mary, but didn't want to ask yet. He wanted to wait to see if she would tell him of her own accord. He just held her and waited.

After a few minutes, Mary sat up a little on the pillows.

"I told him that Edith loved him, that everything was my fault. But he won't propose again. He says… he says he doesn't want to tie her to an old cripple. That's why he was so reserved at dinner. I tried to talk to him, but he wouldn't listen. And he made me so angry, Matthew! He said he was glad that I did what I did that day because he wouldn't want to be married to her now. And he doesn't seem to care about her. Edith is so obviously in love with him it's almost embarrassing to watch her with him. That's why I was so… unsettled earlier. I very nearly lost my temper with him. I just can't stand the way he assumes that Edith would feel different now, as if she were so weak that her feelings would change because he can't use his right arm. With all the men who died and were much more seriously injured. By insulting himself, he insults all of them." Mary was very nearly crying by the time she finished speaking. Matthew sat up and put his arms around her. She took several deep breaths, taking in the familiar scent of her husband, and calmed down.

Knowing Mary so well, Matthew knew well enough that she was not angry for Edith's sake, but for his. This made him feel rather uncomfortable. He understood how Sir Anthony felt. He still wondered every day if he had done the right thing in marrying Mary, tying her to a cripple for the rest of his life. But then he would look at her and see her happiness. He would hold her in his arms at night and feel such a perfect sense of _rightness_. And he would know that they had done the right thing. He saw well enough now that neither of them could have been happy with anyone else, that for Mary, a life with Sir Richard Carlisle would have been intolerable.

He saw how Mary would feel that Sir Anthony's words and complaints were an insult to him. But he did know that Sir Anthony had not meant it like that. He had actually rather enjoyed Sir Anthony's company. They had talked about farming and about Matthew's attempt to find out more about it. Sir Anthony was very knowledgeable and helpful, and Matthew hoped to have more opportunities to speak to him.

Mary had been quiet for a minute, but now she was calm again, she said,

"I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for my darling. And nor does Sir Anthony. Give him time," Matthew said gently. Mary murmured agreement.

"I can't go to sleep now. Shall we read together for a while?" Mary asked.

"That sounds like an excellent idea," Matthew agreed, and he reached for the book on his bedside table. They settled themselves down together and Matthew read in his gentle, soothing voice until they began to yawn and were sufficiently tired and distracted to go to sleep.


	21. Chapter 21

Edith talked of nothing but Sir Anthony in the days after he came for dinner. He was invited again, but found some excuse not to come. Edith was terribly disappointed.

Robert and Cora could not decide whether they should encourage the relationship between Edith and Sir Anthony or not. Cora wanted Edith happily married as soon as possible, but was much less keen on Sir Anthony after seeing his injury. Robert still considered him rather dull and too old for Edith. But he saw how happy his presence made Edith, and wanted her happiness above all other things. Besides, after Sybil's choice of husband, anyone would be an improvement. Sir Anthony's arm made Robert rather uncomfortable, and when he had been there for dinner, Robert had found it rather difficult not to watch him eat one-handed. Yet he saw no reason it would make Sir Anthony a worse husband for Edith; she didn't seem to mind.

He decided simply to leave them to it. He would step in if Edith looked as if she were about to make a great fool of herself, which judging by her rather over-eager behaviour the other night, was not impossible. He would continue to invite Sir Anthony for dinner, but would also encourage Cora to invite other young men. Even that would be difficult, however. He thought sadly of all the young men they had known before the war, and all of them that had died, or worse. He thought of one or two who had come back shell-shocked and totally different men from who they had been before. There would be many young ladies who would die spinsters and widows because of this war.

* * *

Mary and Matthew, with Robert's blessing, began their drives around the estate. It was strange for both of them to do this without Robert, as neither of them had ever done anything like this without his presence. It was, at first, a little awkward with some of the tenants; for the first week or two, it was not unusual to hear mutterings about doubts about how competent a 'woman and a cripple' were for this task.

However, it did not take long for Mary and Matthew to become as respected and trusted as Robert, as the tenants saw their genuine eagerness to learn and to help. And learn they did. With his brilliant lawyer's memory, Matthew came very quickly to know the land as Mary did, to know which fields belonged to which farm and which farmer, and what crops were grown there. For Mary, however, the experience of learning more about the estate was not so pleasant. She began to truly understand why Matthew had been so concerned about how the estate was being run, as she saw farms producing almost nothing because of illness or death in the family, or some other cause that had made Robert sufficiently sympathetic to allow things to continue as they were. She wondered how things had been allowed to continue as they were for so long.

Although Matthew knew about contracts and tenancies and rents and many other things, and Mary knew the land and tenants, neither of them really knew anything about farming, which made it rather difficult to come up with plans which they were confident would work. They tried Jarvis, but although he always began meetings politely, at any suggestion that something be changed, he would become suddenly angry and defensive, and would refuse to tell them things 'without Lord Grantham's express permission', despite the fact that all three of them knew that Robert would allow them any information they wanted.

It was Mary who had the idea that their best option would be to ask someone they knew had a great passion for farming to help: Sir Anthony Strallen. Knowing that it was at least partly her fault that Sir Anthony and Edith were not already happily married, Mary wanted to make up for it somehow, and showing him that they valued his opinion and expertise seemed appropriate. Sir Anthony had taken a great liking to Matthew, and readily agreed. He began to accompany them on their drives, and was very helpful, although Mary and Matthew missed the privacy they had previously enjoyed on these outings.

Edith began to come with them, and so Sir Anthony found himself in her company more often, and remembered his old affection and love for her. She was at her most charming on these drives because his presence made her so happy and she wanted so much to make him love her, and he found it difficult to resist her.

Eventually, he accepted another invitation to dinner. Edith was as excited and nervous as the last time, but it went well, and Sir Anthony began to come to Downton quite frequently, and to take Edith out for drives like he had back in 1914 (although of course they were driven about by a chauffeur now). It was like it had been before the war, and Edith had never seemed happier.

Robert was pleased to see his daughter happy, but could not share her happiness himself. There was Bates, still locked up in some vile prison for a crime he did not commit, although Robert knew there was little he could do about that until the trial.

Then there was his concern about the estate. He supported his daughter and son-in-law in their attempts to better understand the estate and help him with it, but he found it hard to do so. It seemed the more they knew, the more they worried, and it felt almost insulting that they could just start to suddenly take an interest and become almost instant experts, when he had kept the estate going for decades.

He wanted desperately for Matthew to be wrong, for there to be nothing wrong with the way it was run. But he knew that Matthew was clever and an experienced lawyer, and therefore it was impossible to dismiss his concerns. He supposed he really must go to London to speak with Murray in person and try to sort all of this mess out.

Robert announced one morning over breakfast that he was going to London the next day, telling the family that it was business. Cora and Edith were curious, but knew better than to pry. After all, it was not very unusual for him to disappear off to London and stay in his club.

Matthew and Mary however, knew why he was going, and were glad he was finally doing something, but also worried about whether or not he would take Matthew and Murray's advice; he did not like being told what to do, especially when it concerned the estate.

* * *

Murray frowned as he looked across his desk at Lord Grantham. There seemed to be an endless line of members of the aristocracy at his door, refusing to move and change with the times, then complaining when he had to deliver bad news. They came to him because he was known as a good lawyer and a clever and sensible man. Yet they never seemed to follow his advice, thinking they knew better simply because they came from old, respectable and wealthy families, and had great estates and houses and titles. It was maddening.

He had told Lord Grantham that it was foolish to invest all the money in one company, no matter how safe the investment seemed, but had he listened at all? He had certainly thought he knew better. Murray had despaired of ever persuading him to do something, and was beyond surprised when he Lord Grantham made an appointment to see him to discuss the investment and the estate.

"I agree with Mr Crawley, Lord Grantham. I believe the best thing you can do is sell your shares, or at least some of them, and lose a little money rather than lose everything if anything goes wrong," Murray said gravely, looking straight into Lord Grantham's eyes to force him to listen.

Lord Grantham sighed and looked exasperated.

"But surely the value rises and falls all the time. Why ought I to sell now when the price is low? It may rise, and then what fools we will look," he said.

"Or it may fall, and you may lose everything. Mr Crawley is right, there is some concern about the management of the railway company, and with so much money involved, you simply cannot afford for there to be any concern or doubt. Please, Lord Grantham, you asked for my advice and I have given it to you. I would never advise any client to invest everything in one company. And this investment was supposed to be safe because the company would surely do well out of the war. But clearly that is not happening, and I fear things do not seem set to improve. It is possible that in the next year, the whole company will collapse and all the money will be gone. This may not be the _likely_ outcome, but it is possible. I believe you must sell most, if not all your shares, now, before the value falls further."

Lord Grantham frowned deeply and thought hard. The future was going to be hard on estates like Downton, and the thought that he might be the one to lose what his forebears had fought to keep for generations was unthinkable. He still wasn't sure he believed Murray that the value of the shares wouldn't rise, but he supposed that if there was even the slightest possibility that he could lose everything, he must do as Murray advised. And if Matthew agreed, he supposed it must be for the best.

"Split the money into quarters," he said, with a certainly he was not sure he truly felt. "I will keep one quarter in the Canadian railway company. The other three quarters, you should invest in three other, safer enterprises. Do you agree?"

Murray smiled in relief. He supposed the young Mr Crawley was a good influence on Lord Grantham, knowing that Lord Grantham had never listened to anyone's advice before.

"Yes, I think that is very sensible. I shall see to it right away," he said, relieved.

"Thank you, Murray. Telephone me when you have anything to report," Lord Grantham said as he rose from the chair and shook hands with the lawyer, then left.

* * *

"Robert did what I hoped he would. He sold three quarters of his shares in that Canadian railway company," Matthew said to Mary. They were sitting together on the sofa in their sitting room after lunch. Robert had returned from London that morning, and had spent half an hour in the library with Matthew, explaining everything he had decided with Murray. It had not seemed like the right time to make a fuss about the fact that Mary had a right to hear it too.

"Well done, my darling. Perhaps you've saved us all. I'm impressed Papa listened to you; he doesn't usually listen to anyone's advice."

"I don't think I did anything in particular to make him listen; I just talked sense to him," Matthew replied.

"Like you did for Sybil and Tom. You're good at that, Matthew. You must be an excellent lawyer."

"Past tense, Mary, not present. And I'm not sure I was ever any better than average."

"You enjoyed it though," Mary said, looking at his face searchingly.

"Yes. I did. I know it must be strange for you to imagine enjoying working, or to have a job at all. But yes, I did enjoy it. I made me feel like I was good at something, like I was doing something to help others, like I was in some way _useful."_ Matthew said sadly.

"You mean you don't now? Feel useful I mean," Mary asked gently.

Matthew didn't reply. He frowned and looked away from Mary gently inquiring gaze. Mary suddenly felt almost unbearably sad. She lifted her hand to stroke Matthew's face, and he turned to look at her again.

"You're from a different world, Mary. I don't expect this to make any sense to you. But all my adult life, I have done something useful to earn my own money. Now I sit here at home every day, and what _use_ am I to anyone? I don't earn anything, I don't help anyone."

"You help us, all of us. You have made me happier than I could ever imagine being. You helped Sybil and Tom find their own happiness. You may have saved us all from financial ruin. I fail to see how anyone could do all that and still claim to be useless," Mary said earnestly.

"I love you for saying that Mary. But it's not the same. I'm living in your parents' house, eating their food, being looked after by servants they pay. It's different for you. You were born to this. But I wasn't. I always imagined working until I was old enough to retire. I was used to weekdays and weekends, having something to fill my days and make each different from the last. I enjoyed complicated cases that felt like solving puzzles." Matthew stopped speaking, not knowing how to explain all of this to Mary, whose life had been so different to his.

Mary was saddened that Matthew couldn't see their life together as perfect, like she did, but she could understand that it was different for him.

"Then you could work again. Living here needn't stop you. Telephone the firm you used to work for." Strange as it felt for her to be saying those words, it seemed the obvious solution.

Matthew looked at her sceptically.

"You think they'd take me back now? I was a country solicitor, Mary. I went around farms, _walked_ around farms, visited factories and offices. My office was on the first floor. How do you think that would work now? Do you envisage William carrying me up and down stairs, do you see me wheeling myself across muddy farmyards?" he said, almost angrily.

Mary bit her lip and looked away. She hadn't thought through anything, of course. She cursed herself for being so stupid. Matthew saw he'd made her unhappy, and put his arm around her, squeezing her gently.

"I'm sorry, Mary. I didn't mean to… I mean, I know you were only trying to help," he said softly and reassuringly.

"I didn't think anything through. I never do." She paused. "But even so, surely there must be something you can do? There's nothing wrong with your mind. Could you not do… paperwork or something? I don't know anything about it, but surely there's something…" she asked tentatively. Matthew sighed and shook his head.

"Yes, perhaps there _are_ things I could do, but why would they employ someone who can only do some things when they could find some able-bodied man who could do everything the job entails?" he asked.

"Because you're the best lawyer they're going to find in rural Yorkshire. All you can do is ask," Mary said hopefully.

"I will not go begging for a job. I appreciate you trying to help, Mary, truly I do. And don't think I'm unhappy with this life. I'm not complaining, it's just… not what I've been used to all my life."

"I know, my darling. But still, I think you ought to ask. I've heard many places are having difficulty finding enough skilled men to work, after so many died in the war. And asking is not begging. Think about it."

Matthew shook his head, but said nothing. He knew Mary well enough to know there wasn't much point arguing. _And_ , a quiet voice said in his head, _perhaps she is right_. The thought of working again seemed for the first time like a possible reality.

* * *

Matthew sat next to the telephone and looked at it nervously, as if the object itself, rather than the man who would be speaking through it, would decide his fate. He wasn't sure how Mary had persuaded him to go through with this. The more he thought about it, the more ludicrous it seemed, and the less he wanted to do it. But Mary was standing next to him, her hand placed reassuringly on his shoulder. Her presence gave him confidence.

But why on earth was the telephone in the hall? Who had thought it was a good idea to place it somewhere where everyone could hear what one was saying? They had chosen a time when it was unlikely that anyone would overhear, but there were always the servants.

But he had made his decision, and he would go ahead with this. Besides, what was the worst that could possibly happen?

Mary squeezed his shoulder.

"Go on then," she said encouragingly.

Matthew picked up the telephone and was put through to the firm.

"Harvell and Carter Solicitors, Jonathon Carter speaking," said the distant-sounding voice through the telephone.

Matthew took a deep breath.

"Hello Jonathon, it's Matthew Crawley. Is your father available?"

"Matthew? Gosh, is it really you? It must have been what, three years since I last saw you? I suppose you haven't heard. Father's retired. He had a stroke a year back and decided it was time he had a quieter life. I'm doing his job now."

"A stroke? Is he alright?" Matthew asked with concern. He had liked and respected the elder Mr Carter as much as he had been friendly with his son.

"Oh yes, he's recovered well. I think it just reminded him of his age. He could have retired years ago if he didn't enjoy his job so much. No, don't worry about him. But how are you? I heard you were injured in the war, badly enough that you're not working anymore. But then you never really needed to, you being the future Earl."

There was a short pause before Matthew answered.

"I'm well enough, thank you. How are you? Did you make it through unscathed?"

"Somehow, yes. Or at least, physically. The memories..."

"I know."

There was a pause as they both tried to force their minds away from the memories. Mary squeezed Matthew's shoulder, and he looked up and smiled briefly at her before continuing.

"Anyway, I was ringing to see if you still have need of me. Listen, why don't you come round for tea sometime next week? There are things that would be easier to discuss in person. And it's been such an age since I last saw you," Matthew said, not having the confidence to tell Jonathon everything now.

"What, up to the Abbey? Gosh, I've never been up there. Are you sure?"

"Yes, of course. Would Saturday suit you? I suppose you are working all week."

"Yes, Saturday's fine."

"Good. Three o'clock?"

"I'll be there. Will Lord Grantham be there? And Lady Grantham, and all of them? I'm not used to taking tea with Lords and Ladies."

"They may be, but my wife and I have our own sitting room."

"Oh yes, your wife. I forgot. Congratulations! Your cousin Lady Mary, isn't it? You're a lucky man, Matthew. Well, I must go now. Work to do, and all that. See you Saturday. Goodbye!"

"Goodbye Jonathon," Matthew said as he put the telephone down. He breathed a sigh of relief.

"That wasn't too bad, was it darling? And surely he would have told you then if he didn't want you back?" Mary said, smiling. Matthew looked at her.

"But I didn't exactly explain everything, did I?" he replied, thinking a little nervously of Saturday.

"It will be easier in person. It will be alright.

Matthew looked unconvinced, but shrugged.

"Perhaps."

* * *

Saturday came quickly, as days that one is nervous about do. Mary and Matthew had decided it would be best not to mention anything to the family until they had definite news. Matthew wondered what Robert would think. He had been shocked enough when Matthew had told him he had a job when he had first arrived in Yorkshire.

Mary waited in the room nearest the front door at four. Matthew was in their sitting room, fidgeting nervously.

When the doorbell rang, Mary rose from the seat she had been sitting on and went out into the hall to see Carson opening the door to a tall man with dark hair, looking a little nervous, and slightly overdressed for tea. She judged him to be about her own age. She went to the door and smiled at him.

"Mr Carter? Lady Mary Crawley. Come in," she said. Mr Carter walked into the house, and looked around him with evident curiosity.

"Matthew's waiting in our sitting room. Come with me," she said as Carson took his coat and hat. He followed her.

"It's nice to meet you, Mr Carter. Matthew says you were friendly before the war."

"I'm pleased to meet you too, My Lady," he replied in an over-confident voice, assumed to cover his nervousness.

"Just Mary to any friend of Matthew's," Mary said trying to put him at ease. He nodded.

They reached the sitting room and Mary opened the door. Matthew looked up from the book he had been reading (or rather, pretending to read) and smiled nervously at Jonathon.

Jonathon was startled to see Matthew in wheelchair. Lively, energetic Matthew, who had practically run up and down the stairs whenever he had something important to say, who had cycled to work every day. He had known Matthew had been injured in the war, but hadn't known any specifics. From their telephone conversation, he hadn't thought it was something quite so… life changing. But Matthew looked healthy, and better he had done three years ago, which was the last time they had both been on leave. And he was still Matthew, whatever awful things had happened to him in the war. Jonathon blinked once or twice, then smiled and went over to shake his friend's hand.

"Good to see you, Matthew," he said.

"Good to see you too Jonathon. Sit down," he said, gesturing to an armchair. Jonathon sat, still a little stunned. There was a few seconds silence, which was broken by the welcome appearance of Anna with the tea tray. She set it down on the table.

"You can go, Anna. I'll pour," Mary said, wanting to make it more normal for Mr Carter. Anna nodded and left.

Mary poured the tea noisily, handed Matthew and Mr Carter their cups and sat on the sofa.

Matthew sipped his tea and decided it would be best to get the most difficult part of the conversation out of the way.

"I suppose you're wondering about this," he a said, gesturing to his wheelchair. "I broke my back. I'm pretty much useless from the waist down. I'm not going to walk again. That's what I thought might be easier to explain in person."

"Jesus Christ Matthew! I can't believe... I didn't know..." Jonathon said, before pulling himself together. "I'm sorry, it's just... God, that war was a terrible thing," he said, staring blankly ahead as he tried to force his mind away from the awful memories that talk of the war always brought up.

"All wars are," Mary said quietly. They were silent for a minute. Then Jonathon spoke.

"Yes. I think about half the firm's employees were killed or injured. We're only just getting back on our feet. You know, it was quite a relief when you rang. We need more men, and there are few around here with your qualifications and experience. If you want your job back, that will be the best thing that's happened to us since before the war. Although I can't say I've ever understood people like you and my father; if I didn't have to work, I wouldn't. I don't dislike it or anything, but really, if I was given a choice between going into the office five days a week and not doing so, I'd choose the not. But then, who can say they truly understand other people?"

Matthew's heart leapt. Then he thought for a moment and his joy dissipated.

"I won't be able to do what I did before. I can't go visiting clients like this. Steps and everything… And I'm not sure I'll be up to full days working."

Jonathon thought for a minute, a slight frown creasing his forehead.

"No, I suppose not," he agreed. "But there's plenty of office work to do. And Matthew, I'll make sure everything is sorted out for you. I mean, the steps in the office and everything. And you will have my father's old office; it's on the ground floor and it's bigger than the others. I need you, you know. With Father not working anymore, and Mr Harvell getting on a bit, I'm not sure I can do it alone. You know, Father said to me a few years ago that he was thinking of making you a partner. I would never have been given as much responsibility as I have now if I weren't my father's son, but you, well, he thought you would go places."

Matthew felt so pleased at this unexpected praise, and the fact that not only was he going to be able to work again, but they really wanted him back. Then he turned his mind to more practical issues, and began to discuss the details with Jonathon.

Mary found her mind drifting as Matthew and Jonathon discussed what work Matthew might do. She listened to enough to gather that Jonathon would send documents and paperwork up to the house for Matthew, so Matthew need only go in to the office occasionally to meet clients.

When Jonathon left, all three of them were happy. Jonathon would have one more qualified lawyer working for the firm. Matthew would feel useful again, and more independent. He would finally be able to support himself and Mary and no longer feel as if he was living on Robert's charity. Mary was simply glad to see Matthew's happiness.

* * *

The next day, Mary and Matthew decided to visit Isobel, to tell her that Matthew would be working again. They knew she would be pleased, so it seemed appropriate to tell her in person. Besides which, they had not visited for a while. They didn't telephone first, wanting to surprise her, so she was not waiting at the door for them as she usually was when they arrived. Molesley answered the door, and smiled when he saw who it was.

"Was Mrs Crawley expecting you sir, mi'lady?" he asked.

"No, surprise visit," Matthew replied as Mary helped him get his chair over the doorstep. As Molesley closed the door behind them, Isobel appeared at the top of the staircase, and beamed when she saw who her visitors were.

"Matthew, Mary! How are you? Might we have tea, please, Molesley?" she said as she descended the stairs.

"We're very well, thank you Mother," Matthew said as he followed her into the sitting room. "In fact, we came to tell you some rather good news."

Isobel smiled, sat down, and looked at her son expectantly.

"I'm going to work again. My old firm have taken me back."

"Oh Matthew, that's wonderful! I didn't even know you were thinking about it." Isobel beamed in delight. She knew how much it would mean to Matthew to be earning a living again. Then she frowned a little. "But I hope you don't mean to work full time, because I know you're so much stronger now, but I'm still not certain you could manage a full week, or even a full day. At least, not at first."

Matthew almost wanted to say that he did mean to work full time. Even though this was Mother, he didn't particularly enjoy being told what he could and couldn't manage. But he knew she was right, and answered truthfully, "No. Jonathon says I can work from home mostly, and just meet the occasional client at the office. He'll pay the same as before."

"That is good news," Isobel said, smiling brightly again. "And I have some news of my own. Do you remember Dr Wilson, a friend of your father's from Manchester?"

"Yes, of course. George Wilson, isn't it?"

"Yes. I kept in touch with him after we moved here, but I haven't seen him when I've been to stay in Manchester because he moved to London in 1913 to work in St Thomas'. Well, he wrote to me asking if he could come and visit, as he's visiting relatives in Scotland, and it's a long journey without stopping. I told him he could stay here, so he'll be here for a couple of days. You know, he'll be the only friend who's ever come to stay here since we moved."

"When does he come?" Matthew asked. "We should ask him up for dinner at Downton."

Isobel went over to the table and picked up the letter.

"Next month. It will be good to see such a good friend after so long."

The three of them talked for another half hour before Isobel said apologetically that she was needed at the hospital.

Mary and Matthew left, promising to visit sooner next time.


	22. Chapter 22

Robert looked at Sir Anthony Strallen seriously. They were sitting in armchairs in the small library, and Sir Anthony was tapping his foot nervously in a way which Robert found intensely irritating.

"I suppose I can guess why you wanted to speak to me," Robert said.

Sir Anthony shifted in his chair.

"I suppose you can," he replied, then paused, continuing to tap his foot and looking terrified. He looked up tentatively and attempted a smile in Robert's direction. "I've come to ask for your permission to ask Edith for her hand in marriage."

Robert opened his mouth and was about to speak, but Sir Anthony continued before he could.

"I know I'm older than her, quite a lot older than her. But I believe there are many successful marriages with a similar difference in age. I cannot claim to be especially rich or important. But I love Edith with all my heart, and will devote my life to her happiness," he said earnestly.

"I'm sure you will," Robert said kindly, but his voice and countenance were still rather severe.

"I understand if you do not want your daughter married to a cripple old enough to be her father. But I believe I can make her happy. Truly, I will look after her."

"I'm sure you will," Robert said again. He sighed. "Yes, you have my permission. On the condition that I never hear the word 'cripple' pass your lips again, to describe yourself, or anyone else."

Sir Anthony stared for a minute, as if he couldn't believe what he had just heard. Then understanding seemed to spread slowly from his eyes to the rest of his face and his blank expression was transformed into a joyful smile.

"Thank you, Robert," he said. "And I do mean it; I will do everything in my power to make Edith happy, and I will love her faithfully until the day I die."

He paused for a moment, still smiling so widely, it looked quite ridiculous. "Now may I go and find her?"

Robert smiled.

"Of course. I think we can both be fairly certain what her answer will be."

Sir Anthony nodded and left the room find Edith.

Robert, who had risen from his chair when Sir Anthony had, sat down again heavily and sighed. He hoped desperately that he was doing the right thing. It wasn't that he doubted Sir Anthony's love for Edith, for it was obvious to anyone with eyes that the man was utterly besotted. But there was no getting away from the fact that Anthony was his age, and Edith was still so young.

But he had spent a lot of time thinking about it, and really, it was Edith's choice, so he left it to her to make it. She would have love, enough money to be comfortable, and a title, and in truth, it was not as if there were crowds of young, handsome, healthy men vying for her hand. She had had time to think about it, and she was not stupid. Yes, she had a good chance of finding happiness with Anthony Strallen.

Edith would be the last of his daughters to marry. It made him feel old, the thought all his children being married. He felt a sudden loneliness, although he knew this was ridiculous. Edith would not marry immediately, and even when she did leave, he would still have Cora, and Mary and Matthew. But he imagined the house would feel rather empty without Edith. Mary and Matthew might live in the same house, but they had their own life. Matthew even worked now, something Robert couldn't even begin to understand the reason for, but which he had accepted almost without comment. And it seemed as if Mary belonged to Matthew more than him now, she was a wife before a daughter.

But this was natural, he told himself. Children grew up and left home and had their own families. Was this not what he and Cora had been trying to achieve for years? To have their daughters happily married? Sybil might have married one of the least suitable men possible, but from her regular letters to Cora, it sounded as if she was happy. Mary was certainly happy, and Sir Anthony may be rather a bore, but Edith clearly adored him. Yes, he should be pleased.

He rose from his chair and went to find Cora to tell her the news.

After one disappointingly small wedding and one she had not even attended, Cora was determined that the last wedding she organised would be the wedding she had always imagined planning for her daughters. They would invite everyone, do everything properly. The date was set for mid-October, giving her plenty of time.

Edith went about positively glowing with happiness, showing her engagement ring to everyone she saw. Sir Anthony looked younger in his own happiness, and it was clear to everyone that they adored each other.

The time passed quickly, and instead of being sad to see the trees begin to change colour and shed their leaves, and the days get shorter, as she usually was, Edith embraced the coming of autumn, since each day brought her wedding closer. She could hardly believe this was happening to her. She had almost given up hope of marriage, had prepared herself for the role of a spinster, and now she was engaged to the man she had loved for so long. She joined in Cora's thorough wedding planning enthusiastically, enjoying the dress fittings and the drawing up of guest lists because they were all for the day she looked forward to more than she had ever looked forward to a day before.

* * *

Dr Wilson arrived in the village only a few days before the wedding. Isobel was delighted to see her old friend again, and especially to talk about Reginald with him. It had always seemed strange to her that everyone at Downton only knew her as a widow, and had never met Reginald, and it was a change to be able to remember him with someone who knew him so well.

They were, of course, invited to dinner at Downton Abbey on the evening of Dr Wilson's arrival. When the car pulled up outside the house, Isobel laughed at her friend's expression as he took in the beauty and magnificence of the house.

"And Matthew's going inherit all of this?" he said wonderingly.

"Yes. That's how we felt when we arrived, but you know, I hardly notice how luxurious it is now. It feels like home really. I never even dreamed that Matthew would end up marrying a Lady, but he and Mary are very happy together."

"I look forward to meeting her, and the rest of the family of course. And I haven't seen Matthew for years."

The chauffeur opened the door and handed Isobel out, followed by Dr Wilson.

Dr Wilson was even more stuck by the interior of the great house, and although he comported himself well when he was introduced to the family, he found it strange meeting so many people with titles. He felt rather uncomfortable in his white tie and tails, but for the family it seemed completely natural for them to be dressed like this. Isobel said they did this most nights, and he could well believe it.

What surprised him most was how well Matthew seemed to fit in here. He had not seen the boy for years, but back then, he had been a slightly plump, determinedly middle class lawyer. Now he was thinner and stronger looking, and seemed almost as if he had been born into the aristocracy, except that he had none of the stiffness and formality that marked out the manners of most of the aristocrats he had met. It was sad at first to see the energetic, active boy he had known confined to a wheelchair, but after a few minutes, he hardly noticed anymore, since Matthew sat and moved so naturally in his chair, it was as if it were simply an extension of his body.

The evening was going well. The conversation flowed easily, and Robert did his best to make Isobel's friend feel comfortable. With Isobel and a doctor at the table, it was inevitable that the conversation would turn to medicine.

"Isobel tells me you transformed your home into a convalescent home during the war," Dr Wilson said to Lord Grantham.

"Yes. We had to do something for the war effort, and with the hospital in the village, it seemed the sensible thing to do. My youngest daughter, Lady Sybil, trained as a nurse, so she was of course very keen. I'm glad we were useful," Robert replied.

"It is very admirable. The war may have been a terrible thing, but it did bring out the best in so many people. And the medical advances are almost beyond belief."

Robert managed not to sigh or look away in distaste, but he did not like discussions about medical things, and suspected that with a doctor and Isobel at the table, that was the direction in which the conversation was likely to go.

"Yes, it's been marvellous. And it must be even more exciting in London. We are always a little behind up here, although of course the local doctor, Dr Clarkson, tries his best," Isobel said.

"Yes, he does do his very best, and he does very well," Violet put in. "I do not think he would appreciate his methods and treatments being called 'behind'."

"I'm sure he does his best, but it must be very difficult so far from where all the newest innovations are taking place," Dr Wilson said. "I was astonished at the difference between Manchester and London, but up here, you must be even more behind."

"Dr Clarkson is very proud of his hospital. Perhaps if you visited you would see that it is a very successful hospital, despite its size. I am the president of it, you know," Violet said, sounding offended.

"Well, I'm very sure it is an excellent hospital," the doctor replied, a little worried that he had caused offence when he had only known these people for a few hours.

Cora quickly changed the subject, but the evening never quite recovered.

In the car afterwards, Dr Wilson put his head in his hands and laughed.

"Well, that could have gone better," he said.

Isobel smiled. "Don't worry about it. Cousin Violet is touchy about so many things, it's almost impossible not to have one of them come up in conversation. And you know, if you had said it was the best hospital in England, she would have disagreed with you; the first time we went up to the house for dinner back in 1912, Cora was telling me about it, and Cousin Violet was rather dismissive of it. She's not half as fierce as she appears at first though, and she can be a good ally. She's always been one of the chief advocates of Matthew and Mary's marriage, you know."

"They seem very happy together, Matthew and Lady Mary."

"Yes, they truly are. They've been in love since before the war, and I still feel a sort of thrill of happiness when I see them happy together."

Dr Wilson smiled. "Then I am happy for them, and for you. Matthew looks remarkably well, considering."

"Yes, he has recovered so well. A lot of that is to do with Mary, I think. He was so depressed when he was first injured, we were all worried for him. He was determined not to marry, said he didn't want to condemn any woman to the life she would have with him. And… not having children, well, that hit him hard. Particularly with the expectation of being the heir to the earldom. But you're right, they are so very happy now."

"Oh Isobel, I didn't realise. At least, I didn't think. About children. I'm sorry."

Isobel was silent. What was there to say? Then Dr Wilson spoke again.

"Isobel? I don't mean to interfere, but you were talking about being rather behind up here. Has he ever… I mean, is it certain, about his not being able to have children?" he asked tentatively.

Isobel stared at him. "Well, yes. I mean, Dr Clarkson and the specialist Robert got up from London both agreed that… that it isn't, and will never be possible. Surely you know why?" She was trembling slightly. She hadn't spoken about this for quite a while, and found that it hadn't become any less painful with time.

"It's just... well, I believe that there have been cases where patients who have severe spinal cord injuries have fathered children." He wasn't sure he should have said anything, not wanting to raise anyone's hopes without reason. But he was sure that there had been cases where it had happened, and he didn't want the son of his old friend to miss out because he lived in Yorkshire rather than London.

"But surely, since the motor function of the legs is controlled from higher up the spine than the sexual reflex, it can't be possible?" Isobel said, not allowing herself to hope, even for a moment.

"Not a lot is known about spinal cord injuries. Until the war, there were so few patients, and now… well, you must know that there are very few who have recovered as well as Matthew has. And of course, every injury is different. But I believe there is at least a small chance. I think it is worth talking to Matthew and Lady Mary about… the possibility."

"But… to raise their hopes when it is so uncertain… and Dr Clarkson was so sure…" Isobel said quietly.

"I admit there is very little known about it, and I am certainly no expert. But I do know people who are experts. You have a telephone, don't you?"

Isobel nodded.

"Then tomorrow I shall telephone my friend and see what he knows," Dr Wilson said, hoping desperately that he was right and there was a chance, and that he was doing the right thing in getting involved.

Isobel was silent. She stared out the window, seeing nothing in the darkness, her mind whirring. Could it be possible for Matthew to father children? She couldn't bear the thought of raising his hopes when the chance was so small and uncertain. But if George knew an expert…

There was no point speculating, hoping or despairing until tomorrow, she told herself. Tomorrow, she would know enough to allow herself to think about it properly.

* * *

Sybil and Tom arrived two days before the wedding, having been sent the money for the journey by a reluctant Robert, at the urging of Edith, Mary and Matthew. The whole family stood outside the house as soon as they heard the car on the drive.

It all felt faintly unreal to Robert. He was waiting outside the front door of his house to greet his daughter and the man who used to be his chauffeur. He had sent a car to the station to collect the man who used to be his chauffeur.

But when Sybil stepped out of the car and rushed into his arms, his frown melted in his delight at seeing Sybil after so many months. And he had to admit to himself that she did look incredibly healthy and happy.

Tom watched Sybil as she embraced all of her family, glad to see her joy at being home, but feeling uncomfortable. He could feel Lord Grantham's eyes on him, and Carson's equally disapproving expression. When he was with Sybil in Ireland, he could almost forget what a different world she came from. But here, he immediately felt like an intruder into the elegant and opulent world of the upper classes. Lady Grantham may have greeted him as 'Tom', but here, he was Branson, a servant, a member of the working class. They saw him as just one of the thousands of workers who created their well-ordered world and made it all work. Except that he had broken all the rules and married their daughter.

But now, he went through the front door, and a footman he didn't know took his hat and coat and called him 'sir'. He followed them all into the library and sat down self-consciously on a sofa next to Sybil, who squeezed his hand to reassure him. He was grateful for that reassurance, but Sybil was soon engaged in a conversation with her mother, and Tom sat staring at his hands, not knowing what to say to anyone.

Then Mary and Matthew appeared, and Tom relaxed a little. At least he had had conversations with them before. He returned Mary's smile and shook Matthew's offered hand.

Matthew asked about his career as a journalist, and this being a subject he could talk about easily, the conversation flowed easily from there. He remembered how well he had got on with Matthew before they had moved to Ireland, and for a while, he was able to forget the awkwardness of the situation.

Dinner was more awkward. Tom simply couldn't seem to join in with their conversations; they seemed so trivial to him. Every time he opened his mouth, he seemed to say something wrong. He supposed he could have made it easier for himself if he had just kept quiet. But somehow he couldn't. Sybil had told him not to talk about Ireland all the time, but this was impossible. The only thing the family really knew about him was that he was Irish, so every question he was asked was about his country. And he had never been able to prevent himself from speaking his mind, had never wanted to.

Later, when they were in bed together, Sybil reproached him for making it more difficult than it needed to be. But her attempts were only half-hearted because she knew Tom would continue to say what he thought, whether it was tactful or not, and in truth, that was part of why she loved him.

* * *

The night before the wedding, Edith was as nervous as she was excited. What if something happened to prevent the wedding from taking place? What if Anthony changed his mind? And then there was her nervousness about the wedding night. She had found talking about it with Mama too embarrassing, and had given the impression that she knew more than she did so Mama didn't have to explain anything. But now, she realised how unprepared she was.

She knew she wouldn't sleep for some time, so she got up and walked over to where her wedding dress was hanging up. She ran her hands down the ivory silk, and closed her eyes, picturing herself standing at the altar next to Anthony.

She was suddenly startled by a quiet knock on the door. Her eyes flew open and she turned sharply to the door, then relaxed when it opened and Sybil and Mary came in dressed in nightgowns and dressing gowns.

"I thought you might not be able to sleep," Sybil said, going over to sit on Edith's bed, followed by Mary. Edith went over to join them.

"We though perhaps you might want some… advice. For tomorrow night," Mary said a little awkwardly; this had been Sybil's idea, not hers. Edith blushed scarlet and looked down, unable to meet her sisters' eyes.

"You don't need to be so embarrassed, Edith. We're your sisters. And it's nothing to be embarrassed about, you know. It's perfectly natural, and, well, _wonderful_." Sybil said. Edith nodded and looked up.

"Does it hurt?" she asked slowly.

"Yes, it does a little. Only the first time. And really, the pain doesn't matter, because at the same time, it feels so wonderful. It's not a sensation one can explain, but it is better than anything else you will have felt before," Sybil replied, smiling broadly.

"And…what exactly do I have to _do_?" Edith asked.

"You will know what to do when the time comes. All that is strictly necessary is for you to lie back and let Anthony do what he wants. But when it comes to it, your body will know what to do," Mary said gently.

"You do know… how it works?" Sybil asked.

"Yes, of course. At least, I think so," Edith said uncertainly.

Sybil gently explained everything in more detail, while Edith looked down at the bed. Mary was quiet. She may have been married for six months, but there was little she could contribute. And worse, Sybil's words brought back horrific memories of that night many years ago when Kemal Pamuk had come to her room. The memory of that night was as fresh as if it had been last night. As Sybil talked, she could almost feel again his hardness, pushing against her, then inside her. She could almost feel the pain and the shock, taste his hand over her mouth as she had whimpered. She didn't notice when Sybil stopped talking.

"Mary?" Sybil said with concern, "are you alright?" Mary realised she had been looking away and digging her nails into the soft skin of her hands. She looked down and saw ten neat half-moons, turning quickly from silvery-white to an angry red.

"I'm fine. Sorry, I was thinking about… something else," she said, trying to make her voice sound calm, although a slight quiver in it gave her away. Sybil reached out and put her arm around Mary. Mary could look at Sybil; she didn't know about Kemal. But she was afraid that if she looked at Edith, she would give away instantly what she had been thinking. They had not mentioned it for years; it had become unmentionable between them.

"What's wrong, Mary?" Sybil asked. Mary shook her head and said more confidently,

"I told you, I'm fine."

Sybil looked at her sympathetically.

"I'm sorry Mary," she said, thinking she understood. "Maybe that was insensitive, talking about… that, when you can't…"

Mary understood suddenly what Sybil thought.

"No, Sybil, truly, it's not that," she insisted, but because she couldn't tell Sybil the truth, she could see Sybil didn't believe her. They were all quiet for a while. Then Sybil asked,

"Is it hard though? Being married to Matthew when you can't…?"

Mary sighed and shook her head. She didn't want to talk about this, even with her sisters. It was private between her and Matthew. But they were both looking at her expectantly, and she knew she had to answer.

"No. No, I'm happy. We've never been able to… do that. So I can't miss it. And there is more than one way for a man to give a woman pleasure. I know it's harder for Matthew than for me," she said, stopping suddenly when she realised that she had said more than she had meant to. But Edith and Sybil were still looking at her as if they expected her to continue.

"We have things that are more important than… physical intimacy. We have love, and trust and that's more meaningful than what we don't have," she said.

"But what about children?" Edith asked. Sybil shot her a look that told her she shouldn't have asked, but Edith hadn't thought before speaking.

"I'm sorry Mary, it's none of our business," Edith said quickly, but Mary shook her head.

"No, it's alright. The truth is, I never really saw myself becoming a mother. I suppose I assumed I would have children when I was married, to provide my husband with heirs. But pregnancy always looks so uncomfortable, and I never seem to know what to do with small children like most women seem to. I think… I know Matthew would have made a good father, and it makes me sad that he can't be. And I know Papa is sad about the impossibility of having an heir. But it's not the end of the world. And I knew there was no hope of children when I married Matthew. My love for him was stronger than the theoretical love for children who don't exist yet."

Sybil and Edith could think of nothing to say to this. They sat together, the three sisters content in each other's company for once.

"I suppose you two want to get back to your husbands, if marriage is as wonderful as you have made it out to be. I'll sleep now. Thank you, for helping me. I'm much less worried than I was," Edith said when Sybil yawned.

"And I doubt you'll get much sleep tomorrow," Mary said as she rose from the bed, smirking a little.

Edith blushed again, and Mary and Sybil left.

It was late, and Mary tried to walk quietly down the stairs without making them creak. She was tired, and could not wait to slip into bed with Matthew and fall asleep in his arms. She had said more than she had planned to say to Sybil and Edith, and felt strange and vulnerable. She had told Matthew she would be late to bed and that he should sleep rather than wait up for her. Now she almost wished she hadn't. She needed his comforting arms around her. But it was late, and she would try her best not to wake him when she got into bed.

But when she reached their room, the light was on and Matthew was sitting up reading. She felt herself relax and her heart leap at the sight of his handsome face and his gentle smile when he looked up to see her standing in the doorway.

"I thought I told you not to wait up for me," she said as she walked towards the bed, returning his smile.

"Would you have done what you were told?" he asked her, raising his eyebrows a little.

Mary shook her head in answer and slipped under the covers. She wriggled closer to him and he put down his book and lay down, turning the light off when he saw Mary was settled. Mary lay her head on Matthew's warm chest and sighed with contentment as he put his arm around her.

"What were you three talking about for so long?" he asked.

"Marriage," Mary replied simply and kissed his chest. Matthew stiffened a little under her, guessing quite accurately what precisely that meant.

"Mary?" he asked after a while.

"Matthew?" she replied gently.

"Do you ever regret marrying me? Do you ever wonder what it would be like to be properly married to a man who was… whole, who could give you children?" he asked sadly.

Mary sat up and looked Matthew in the eye, although it was rather difficult to do this in the darkness.

"We are properly married. You are my husband and I love you more than I could ever love any other man. No, I never regret marrying you. I could never wish to be married to a man who could give me children, because that man would not be you. I love you, Matthew Crawley, and I always will. Now kiss me before I get cross at you for being so stupid," she said.

Matthew swallowed a lump in his throat.

"You are magnificent, Mary," he said, and he pulled her down to him and kissed her tenderly on the lips. Then he twisted about under the covers. In the dark, Mary could not see what he was doing. Then she felt him kiss her between her legs and gasped with pleasure and surprise. She felt his tongue exploring the sensitive folds down there. The sensation of his tongue caressing her was exquisite, and as the pleasure mounted and intensified, she arched her back and threw back her head on the pillow in ecstasy.

Afterwards, she lay still with her eyes closed, breathing deeply and heavily, almost impossibly happy. Matthew, also breathing heavily, pulled himself back up the bed and lay propped up on his elbows, watching her face. Mary turned her face to his and opened her eyes, although it made little difference in the almost perfect blackness.

"As are you," she said softly.

"What?" Matthew asked, confused.

"Magnificent," she replied, and kissed him, tasting herself on his lips and his tongue. He lay down flat again, and she placed her head on his chest as she had before.

"We ought to get some sleep at least. It will be a long day tomorrow," Mary said, and Matthew murmured his assent.

"Goodnight, my darling," Matthew whispered.

"Goodnight, my dearest sea monster," Mary replied, causing Matthew to snort with laughter.

They were both asleep within minutes.


	23. Chapter 23

Sir Anthony sat at the front of the church and felt the eyes of the entire congregation on his back. He imagined their conversations, although in the general noise created from so many individual conversations, he couldn't make out more than one or two words at a time from the guests who were closest behind him.

They would all be disapproving, he knew. He was too old for her. He was as old as her father, for God's sake! How had he even let it go this far? What on earth had he been thinking? He glanced down at his useless right arm and grimaced. That was even worse than the difference in their ages. He had been uncertain enough when he was going to propose before the war, when he was at least whole and healthy. Now, he was a pathetic old cripple, and he was about to witness the most bright, beautiful woman of his acquaintance chaining herself to him for life.

But it was too late now for second thoughts. There was hundreds of guests in the church already, and there would be more at the party afterwards. The honeymoon in Italy was arranged and his first wife's old rooms had been redecorated for Edith.

And she had seemed so sure. He knew she didn't mind his age or his arm, and being with her made him feel young again.

But did she really know what she wanted? She might be happy enough now to be tied to an old man, but although the difference in their ages was great, he was not really old yet. In a few years, in a decade, he would be truly old, and Edith would still be a young woman in the prime of her life.

Then he heard the music start the babble of voices subsided. Anthony turned around to see his beautiful Edith walking down the aisle towards him holding her father's arm. Even from this distance, he could see that she was smiling. He swallowed hard and stood up.

Edith reached him.

"Good afternoon," she said happily.

"Good afternoon my sweet one," he replied, his heart almost bursting with love for her.

The music stopped and Travis said in his deep church voice,

"Dearly beloved."

Anthony's heart began to beat faster. It was really happening, it had begun. He panicked. He couldn't do this to Edith, he couldn't.

"We are gathered…" Travis continued, but Anthony, without thinking, interrupted.

"I can't do this," he said.

Robert stared at him in anger and incomprehension.

"What?" he asked.

"I can't do this," Anthony repeated. His heart was breaking as he saw the horror in Edith's lovely eyes, which moments before had been shining with joy. But he knew he was doing the right thing. He had to release her before it was too late, and it was very nearly too late now. Of course it was awful to end it now, but better this than go on with it and see Edith grow tired of him in the years to come. He would ruin her day, but better that than ruin her life.

Everyone in the church seemed to be frozen in shock, unsure what was going on or what to do. There was perfect silence, apart from Edith's heavy breathing as she tried to comprehend what was happening to her.

Then everyone turned as Matthew spoke.

"Anthony! You can do this. You will do this."

Anthony stared at him. Matthew was looking at him levelly and seriously. Anthony had come to like and respect Matthew, but on this matter, Anthony could not think how anyone could possibly understand or think to advise him.

Anthony spoke directly to Matthew.

"I can't. I can't ruin her life. You don't, you _can't_ understand. I can't do this," he said despairingly.

Matthew continued to look him directly in the eye.

"I do understand," he said quietly but clearly.

Anthony looked at him, and thought hard. Yes, out of all the people present on that church, Matthew was the only one who could possibly understand. He looked at the younger man, looked at his arm around Mary's waist. Then he looked at Mary. He saw their closeness and their joy in each other's company. They had been married only six months, and he had known Lady Mary Crawley since she was a small child. But already, he couldn't imagine her without her husband, nor him without her. He saw the two of them, so happy and so right together, despite their difficulties.

"All that matters is whether you love each other or not, and I know you do," Matthew said.

Anthony closed his eyes for a moment. Of course he loved Edith, he had for years. And the joy he had seen in her eyes only few minutes ago proved to him that she loved him. He turned to look at Edith, who seemed to be trying not to cry.

"Are you sure, my sweet one?" he asked.

"Of course I'm sure. I want to love you and look after you and be your wife, Anthony. We are going to be so terribly happy together. Of course I'm sure," she replied earnestly, and she reached out and took his left hand in hers. "You can do this, Anthony. I couldn't ever be happy without you. Now stop this… this nonsense and let Travis continue."

Anthony squeezed her hand. Edith was a strong, intelligent woman; she was capable of making her own decisions, and although he still couldn't quite understand why, she had chosen _him_ , he loved _him_.

He felt rather foolish now.

"I'm, erm, I'm sorry about that. Sorry Travis. I suppose you ought to, erm, continue."

The whole church seemed to breathe a sigh of relief as Travis continued with the ceremony, and everyone behaved as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. It was, after all, well known that most men were nervous and scared on their wedding days.

In the car back to Downton Abbey, Mary, Matthew, Robert and Cora sat in silence, still rather stunned after what had almost happened in the church. They were going back now to celebrate, but they had very nearly ended up with nothing to celebrate at all.

"I think you rather saved the day, my boy," Robert said suddenly to Matthew. Matthew looked away, a little embarrassed.

"He just needed… reassuring that he was doing the right thing. He left it rather late to have doubts," he replied, and Mary tightened her arm around him. Robert nodded slowly.

"I did have my doubts, I must admit. He is… well, he's as old as I am. I knew him before Edith was even thought of. And then there's that arm…" he said. Mary stiffened, but saw Matthew give her a look which clearly meant 'leave it'. She nodded almost imperceptibly; now was not the time for a fight with her parents.

"But he makes Edith happy, and seems devoted to making sure she is always happy. I know him for a good man, although I always thought him rather a bore," Robert continued.

"Robert!" Cora exclaimed. "He is our son-in-law!"

"Yes well… as long as Edith finds him interesting enough, I don't see why I must. He talks of nothing but farming. But I'll admit freely that some people may find that fascinating. Just not me. Anyway, I said he was a good man did I not?"

Cora smiled at him and shook her head.

They were almost the first to arrive back at the house, and they went straight to the ballroom, where the servants were just finishing laying out the food and arranging the chairs. Anthony and Edith appeared, arm in arm, both smiling. Nobody mentioned or alluded to what had nearly happened, although the conversation was rather awkward.

When the guests began to arrive, Edith and Anthony greeted them by the door as if nothing had happened. They opened the first dance together, and although Anthony's manner was a little sheepish, they seemed happy. They had practised dancing before the wedding, and succeeded in finding a way of holding each other that made it possible for them to dance without Anthony's arm being too much of a problem, so they were able to dance together without worrying about appearances.

Isobel, who had come in one of the first cars to arrive at the house, found a chair in an out of the way corner of the room and sat down, watching the guests arrive. There were so many of them, it seemed impossible that Edith and Anthony knew so them all. But then, she reminded herself, they probably didn't know them very well; this was simply how weddings were done in great families like this.

Her eyes scanned the room and found her son and daughter-in-law sitting at the edge of the room, talking and laughing together, oblivious, as they often were, to anything that was going on outside their little world.

She smiled when she thought about what George had said, about the astonishing and wonderful possibilities he had told her of, and the advice of his friend, which although it had been vague and not terribly helpful, had been encouraging. She might one day be a grandmother. Oh, she knew it wasn't certain, or even likely, but it was possible, and she needed to tell Matthew and Mary. She had only waited this long because the madness of the wedding preparation had not seemed like the right time for such important news. And she didn't know how to say it either. Really, she didn't know anything, other than that there was a slight chance it was possible, and she needed to tell them that quite clearly without sounding hopeless and defeatist. Because there was hope. For the first time in over a year, there was hope.

Mary and Matthew, oblivious to the fact they were being watched, were watching the dancers and talking.

"Papa was right. You really did save the day my darling," Mary said. "I'm sure Edith is very grateful. And so am I. I know me and Edith don't tend to get along very well…"

"You can say that again," Matthew interrupted smiling. Mary frowned at him, but nodded to acknowledge the truth of what he said.

"I know we don't get along very well," Mary continued, "but I do want her to be happy. And, well, I suppose it was my fault they weren't married years ago."

"Mary, you should stop worrying about what happened then. What Edith did to you was terrible. I don't exactly say she deserved it, but I don't think it was such a terrible thing to do what you did. We cannot change the past, we can only live the present and look forward to the future. Edith and Anthony are together now. And we are happy. The past is gone, we need not worry about what we should or should not have done. If we thought like that, we would never live, never appreciate the present," Matthew said. He paused for a minute, then said, "You don't have to stay here with me, Mary. Go and dance. When did you last dance?"

Mary shook her head.

"I don't have to stay here with you. I _want_ to stay here with you. I enjoy your company more than I enjoy dancing. I wish we could dance together, but only because I want to dance with you. And it's the only way it can be socially acceptable for us to be in each other's arms in public," she said.

Matthew stifled a laugh.

"Yes, when one thinks about it, it is rather peculiar that at all the balls in London before the war, I could dance with you all night, hold you close to me for hours on end, and nobody would bat an eyelid. We weren't even properly engaged. And now we are married, it's completely unacceptable for me to hold you here, in front of all these people. The world we live in can be so ridiculous sometimes."

"It can," Mary said, smiling.

"Even so, I would love to see you dance. You do it beautifully, you know. You won't deny me that pleasure will you?" Matthew asked persuasively.

Mary looked around the room, at the dancers and the people who were eating or standing around talking.

"And who would I dance with anyway?" she asked.

"I think the men are all reluctant to ask you while you're sitting here with me, darling. Think it would be awkward probably. Go and find some ladies to talk to, and I'm sure you'll get plenty of offers."

Mary looked as if she were about to refuse.

"Please?" Matthew asked. "I'll be fine."

"On your own?" Mary asked.

"I'll go and find Tom. I expect he's feeling rather out of place and could do with some company," Matthew replied. Mary stood up, kissed him on the cheek and went to greet some cousins, unconsciously looking around for Matthew every few minutes as she talked with them.

Matthew was right. Within a few minutes, Mary was asked to dance. She had forgotten the freedom and joy of gliding around a dancefloor with a handsome man looking at her appreciatively. It was not the same as it had been with Matthew, but she enjoyed herself greatly. She knew she was an elegant and accomplished dancer, and she knew she was beautiful. She felt people's eyes on her and she remembered how it had felt to be the most popular debutante in her first London season, the eyes of all the men in the room on her as she danced in the arms of some young man who thought himself fortunate that she had accepted his offer to dance.

But now it was different. She may have been young and beautiful, but she had not been truly happy. And now she was. She was wonderfully, exquisitely happy. And the only eyes that mattered to her were the eyes of her beloved husband.

She did not dance for long. The joy wore off a little and she found all her partners poor company compared to Matthew.

She found him with Tom in a corner of the room, laughing and drinking champagne and sat down on a chair next to them.

"Did you enjoy yourself, darling?" Matthew asked.

"I did, but not as much as I enjoy your company. I hope you were watching, because I only did it for you," Mary answered. "Are you enjoying yourself, Tom?"

"Well enough. But once you've seen the other side of parties like this, it's hard to forget all the hours of work and preparation that have gone into it. Everyone acts as if all of the food and decorations appear out of thin air, and I can assure you, they do not. And there's so much food wasted!"

"I'm sure the servants eat it, or…" Mary began, but Tom gave her a disdainful look, and she knew how pathetic it sounded, especially since he had been one of the servants, and would know far better than she did what happened to the food. She decided it would be wisest to change the subject. "Where's Sybil?" she asked.

"I told her to go and find someone to dance with," he said.

"Why couldn't she dance with…"Mary began, and was going to say 'with you' but realised halfway through the sentence that Tom had almost certainly never learnt to dance, or at least, not this kind of dance. She blushed at her mistake.

Tom looked at her with a strange half-smile playing about his lips.

"Funnily enough, there aren't many dancing masters in the slums of Dublin," he said, and Mary couldn't tell how serious he was. Thankfully, at that moment Sybil appeared, flushed from dancing, and sat down, chattering cheerfully and dispelling the awkwardness.

The four of them sat talking together until Edith and Anthony left for Locksley. Mary and Sybil went to kiss their sister goodbye and wish her good luck. Anthony looked past the sisters and caught Matthew's eye. He nodded in acknowledgement of what Matthew had saved him from doing earlier and Matthew smiled at him reassuringly.

Cora was close to tears of joy as she waved her daughter off, finally having arranged a successful and traditional wedding, with the bride leaving with her groom at the end of the party for their honeymoon.

After the guests had left, the family sat in the drawing room, contentedly weary after a long and eventful day.

"I can't believe you're all married!" Robert said happily. "You're all so grown up. When I think back to a year ago, I can't believe it!"

Sybil thought back to October 1918 and remembered thinking she'd never escape. She had loved Tom from a distance, but had been so sure her family would never see her again if she married him, she had hardly been able to bear the thought of it. The war had been almost over, and she had known that her feeling of usefulness would end as soon as she stopped nursing when the war ended. Happiness and marriage had seemed like such a distant and unlikely prospect.

And now she was married to the man she loved, and her parents were sitting in the same room as him, talking to him like a member of the family, letting him stay in their house. And perhaps there was something else to celebrate…? But it was too early to be certain.

Mary thought back to the year before and remembered her deep unhappiness, and the certainty that it would never change. She had been engaged to a man she detested and had been trying to reconcile herself to a life of unhappiness and fear with him. Matthew had been engaged to Lavinia, although the chances of him marrying at all had seemed slim. He had been so unhappy, and this had made her unhappy too.

Now, every night she could sleep in his arms and kiss his lips and she could wake every morning to see his beloved blue eyes looking at her. Lavinia and Richard were gone, and still Richard had not published her story. She was happier than she had ever believed was possible since that horrible night when Kemal had come to her room.

Matthew remembered the deep depression he had felt a year ago, the hopelessness for the future, and the hatred of himself and his pathetic broken body. It was about a year ago that he had come home, brought in to Downton Abbey on a stretcher with a dozen or so other wounded men. He remembered being taken to his small ground-floor room, which became like a prison to him when he had no more power to get out of bed and leave it than he did to fly. He remembered the bittersweet pleasure of Mary's company, knowing that he loved her but that they would never be together. It had seemed infinitely more likely that he would be dead in a year's time than married to Mary. Happiness had seemed like a very distant memory from the past, something he would never feel again.

But here he was, a year later, happy beyond measure with the most wonderful woman ever to walk the earth as his wife. He had made it through over a year of this life. The war was over and the world was slowly recovering. And he had made Mary happy. He could not believe the changes that year had brought any more than Robert could.

He turned to look at Mary to see the same expression of disbelief and contentment he suspected was mirrored in his own face. Mary glanced at the door and mouthed 'bed?'. He nodded so slightly, nobody but Mary could have seen.

Mary stood up.

"I think I shall retire. It has been a long day," she said, "Matthew?"

"Yes, I think I shall retire too. Goodnight," he said and began to wheel himself towards the door, which Mary opened for him, before going through it herself and following him to the bedroom with an eagerness that had nothing to do with tiredness.

 _ **Thank you again to everyone who has reviewed this story. I hope you continue to enjoy it!**_


	24. Chapter 24

Sybil and Tom left soon after the wedding, and Robert felt more relaxed without what he considered to be a dangerous revolutionary in the house. But with both Sybil and Edith gone, the house felt empty and rather sad. Cora found she didn't really know what to do with herself without her daughters. Mary was still there of course, but she spent most of her time with Matthew.

Her letters from Edith and Sybil were the most exciting events of those first few weeks after the wedding for Cora. Edith wrote happily of all the wonderful sights she and Anthony were seeing in Rome, then Florence and Venice. If Cora had been worried about Edith not being happy with a man so much older than her, those worries were proved to be unfounded as she read Edith's lively letters, which were so full of praise for Anthony.

Sybil wrote less frequently, as she always had, because she had to work, and her shifts as a nurse were long and tiring. Sybil also had less to write that would interest her mother, guessing correctly that Cora wouldn't want to hear about the kind of people who were Sybil and Tom's friends in Ireland, or about Tom's family, or about work and hospitals.

Mary found, much to her surprise, that she missed Edith too. For years, she had wished Edith didn't live with her, and now her wish had come true, she found that, with Matthew working now, she missed her sister's company.

So, one afternoon when Matthew was in the office in Ripon meeting a client, a few days after Edith's wedding, Mary was glad to be invited to go for tea with Isobel. This was not exactly unusual in itself; Mary quite often went to visit her mother in law while Matthew was working. But there had been something different in Isobel's voice when she had telephoned the previous day, and Mary had got the sense that she was being invited for more of a reason than company. She was desperately curious to find out what it was.

She walked into the village, enjoying the sunny weather despite the autumn chill. The leaves were all the most wonderful colours, and she took a sort of childish delight in the sound of them crunching under her boots. If she had been certain that nobody would come, she would have kicked them up in the air, like she had done as a small child when she walked into the village in autumn with her nanny and sisters.

She reached Crawley House in a good mood, and only remembered Isobel's strange behaviour when Molesly showed her into the sitting room and she saw Isobel looking rather excited and also slightly nervous, an emotion Isobel did not normally display.

"Mary," she said, smiling, "come and sit down. Molesley, you may leave, I will pour the tea."

Mary sat on the sofa and watched Isobel as she busied herself with the teapot and cups. She thought it was almost as if Isobel was avoiding looking at her, and she was fairly certain that Molesley had been sent out so that they would be alone.

Isobel handed Mary her tea and sat down slowly. Although she was smiling, she looked as if she were struggling to start to say what she had invited Mary there to hear, so Mary thought she would make it easier.

"Isobel, is there something you wanted to speak to me about?" she prompted.

Isobel smiled tightly. "Yes, actually, there is." She paused and took a sip of tea, a delaying tactic, then began again. "You remember my friend Dr Wilson who came to stay a couple of months ago?"

"Yes, of course. I still don't think Granny's got over that dinner," Mary replied, smiling.

"Well, as you know, he is a doctor in one of the largest London hospitals, which treated a large number of injured soldiers during the war. He is very knowledgeable about the newest treatments and advances in medicine, and is acquainted with some of the foremost medical experts in the country. While he was here, we had several conversations. About spinal cord injuries. And about… well, he said that he knew of cases in his hospital where men who were paralysed had fathered children."

Mary froze, then gasped, and almost spilt her tea. This was why Isobel had been nervous.

"You mean… but I thought…"

"While George was here, he telephoned his friend, who is an specialist in spinal cord injuries, and although he said there could be no certainty because every injury is different, he said that there was definitely a chance that you and Matthew might be able to have your own children. It is a slim chance, and this is why I have not told you earlier, and why I am telling you before Matthew. I do not wish to raise anyone's hopes for no good reason. But I believe there is a good reason, even if there can be no certainty."

Mary was silent for a minute. It felt like a dream. But at the same time, she knew it was real. She wanted to let herself smile and celebrate, but really, she had no idea how much hope there really was, and she needed to know more before she allowed herself even to smile.

"Tell me everything. Please," she said, almost desperately.

* * *

Mary didn't walk straight back to Downton Abbey. She needed time alone to think. She wasn't sure what she would let slip if she met anyone now.

She didn't know what to think. 'A slim chance' Isobel had said, and she didn't want to let herself hope. But how could she help it? A slim chance was so much more than an impossibility. She wanted to shout out loud and tell the world that she might be able to have a child. But she knew that it was far too soon for such joy.

And what and when she should tell Matthew? Yes, it was good news. But nothing was certain. How could she raise his hopes without being certain? And yet, how could she ever be certain without telling him and trying? He was much happier now, but there were still days when nothing could convince him that he was loved and that he was not 'half a man'. He was only just coming to truly accept and come to terms with his disability. Would this tenuous hope be good for him? Of course hope could be a wonderful thing, but it could also be painful. He had come to live with certainty, and Mary wasn't sure she could bear to ruin this. What if she told him what Isobel had said, and it turned out not to be possible?

Would it be possible though? She had never touched Matthew _there,_ except very briefly; it didn't feel right to touch him where he couldn't feel it, and it seemed that touching him there was even worse. It had taken weeks for him even to be comfortable with her helping him with his physiotherapy because it involved her touching and moving his legs.

Her conversation with Isobel had been, without doubt, the most embarrassing conversation she had ever had with anyone. Despite her earlier nervousness, as soon as she had been discussing medical matters, Isobel had not been in the least bit embarrassed about discussing male anatomy in great detail. She had seemed oblivious to Mary's discomfort, and Mary, although she had not enjoyed the conversation, at least left feeling as if she understood what to do in order to maximise the chance of children.

She was surprised at the force of her longing for a child now. She had thought she was content with her life as it was, that she wanted nothing but Matthew. But now, she wanted Matthew's child so badly, and more than that, wanted to make him a father, because she knew how desperately he wanted that. And, although it made her feel a little guilty that she felt like this, she wanted to be able to her duty to Downton and have an heir. There was a part of her that still needed to make her father proud of her, to finally atone for the fact that she had been born a girl, not the son her father had so desperately wanted.

Isobel had trusted her to tell Matthew, and she was determined to do it right, to say it in the way that would be least painful if it turned out not to be possible. She couldn't say anything yet. She would think about it, and find the right way to tell him, and then, who knew what the future might hold?

* * *

Matthew, meanwhile, was nervously waiting in his office for his client to arrive. So far, he had dealt only with paperwork, and had been reading up on all the recent changes in the law that had happened in the five years since he had last worked as a lawyer. Today, he was meeting one of the firm's most important clients, Jonathon having told him that he was the best qualified to deal with them. Even before the war, when he had been accustomed to working and had been healthy and whole, it had always been Mr Carter who had dealt with the most important clients.

He picked up the file that way on his desk and flicked through it again, although he knew it back to front by now; he was determined that the meeting would be a success, and had spent many hours reading everything he thought might be helpful.

There was a knock on the door, and Matthew put the file down and called 'come in' as calmly and steadily as he could. The secretary, Helen, held the door open and Jonathon walked in followed by a serious looking middle aged man whom Matthew assumed must be Mr Forsyth.

"Mr Forsyth, this is Matthew Crawley. He will be acting for you as my father did before his retirement," Jonathon said brightly.

Matthew tried his best to emulate his friend's easy manner, and looked up smiling at Mr Forsyth, extending his had to shake. His smile faltered somewhat when Mr Forsyth continued to stare at him, taking in the wheelchair and ignoring the proffered hand.

"Mr Forsyth," Matthew began, "Pleased to meet you. Please, take a seat," he said, gesturing to the chair next to the desk.

Mr Forsyth blinked and automatically shook Matthew's hand briefly, still looking at him oddly. Then he turned and addressed Jonathon.

"Mr Carter, I do not know what your father taught you, but I would have thought you would be able to provide the client who is of as greater value to your firm as I know I am, with a competent lawyer to deal with, not a cripple."

Matthew breathed deeply, determined not to let anyone know that he was in the least offended or insulted, or that he took Mr Forsyth's comments at all seriously, although inside, he felt as if he had been punched in the stomach. Of course he was used to stares and whispers by now, but this was different. But he managed, with great effort, to remain outwardly calm.

Jonathon was not so accomplished at hiding his feeling, and his anger and indignation for his friend was obvious in the expression he wore.

"Mr Forsyth, I assure you that what my father taught me was to ensure that every client was looked after by the best lawyer we had in the required field of expertise. Mr Crawley is the best lawyer you are going to find to deal with you and your company in this part of Yorkshire, so I suggest you apologise and we can all move on."

Mr Forsyth frowned.

"I… I did not mean to cause offence. I do not have anything against you personally, Mr Crawley. I simply… Mr Carter, surely you have someone else whom I can deal with?"

"No. Mr Crawley will replace my father, and you will treat him with the respect I expect every client and every employee to treat each other with, or you will take your business elsewhere. And I assure you, in this area of Yorkshire, you will not find a more experienced or highly qualified lawyer in this field than Mr Crawley."

Mr Forsyth looked as if he were about to argue.

"Mr Forsyth," Matthew said, having succeeded in controlling his emotions sufficiently to be able to speak normally. "I understand your concerns, but I assure you they are unfounded. It is true that my body is paralysed, or 'crippled' as you call it, but my mind is not. You have dealt with this firm for many years; do you really believe they would employ anyone who was incapable of doing the work they are payed for?"

Jonathon looked down at his friend in admiration. If he had been in Matthew's position, he doubted he would have responded so calmly and rationally.

Mr Forsyth was silent for a while, and seemed to be deciding how to respond. He looked out of the window, then at Matthew, seeming to see him properly for the first time. When he spoke, addressing Matthew directly for the first time, his tone was very different from the one he had previously used.

"Did you… were you wounded in the war?" he asked. There was a haunted look in his eyes and his voice was quieter.

"Yes," Matthew replied simply, looking the older man directly in the eye. "Amiens."

Mr Forsyth closed his eyes for a moment. "My son…" he began, then broke off to take a steadying breath, "My son was… he was injured. In 1914. They brought him home, but he… didn't make it."

"I am very sorry," Matthew said gravely. There were too many people with similar stories.

"If… if my Eddie had survived, he would have had to get on with only one arm and one leg. And I would have wanted the best for him. If anyone had treated him as I have treated you, I would have given them a piece of my mind. I will allow you to prove to me that you are capable of performing your work."

"And I will prove to you that I am. Please, take a seat, and we can begin," Matthew said, relieved that the worst seemed to be over. Mr Forsyth sat, and Jonathon smiled and left the room.

As their meeting progressed, Mr Forsyth began to feel like a fool for his earlier behaviour. He was not only satisfied, but impressed with Matthew's knowledge and expertise, and after a while, he stopped noticing the fact that his lawyer was sitting in a wheelchair rather than an ordinary chair.

Matthew soon began to feel more relaxed, as they discussed topics he understood well and could help with. He couldn't forget his client's earlier assumptions though, and wondered whether it would always be like this, whether he would always be assumed to be mentally disabled, as well as physically. He was rather enjoying proving Mr Forsyth wrong, but the thought that it might be like this every time he met a new client was not a pleasant one. He thought the war should have made things better; there were so many young men with disabilities now. But he supposed not all of them worked, and he supposed there was no reason why any of his clients would have met any of them.

When it was time for him to leave, Mr Forsyth stood up and reached out to shake Matthew's hand. Matthew took it.

"I hope you found our meeting productive," Matthew said.

"I did, very. I look forward to meeting again. Your advice has been invaluable," Mr Forsyth replied.

"Those contracts will have been rewritten and made ready to sign by then. Helen, my secretary, will be able to give you a date when you see her on the way out."

There was a pause. Then Mr Forsyth, looking troubled, spoke, avoiding looking at Matthew's eyes.

"I would like to say… I mean, I believe I should… well, suffice to say that I am aware that my behaviour earlier was unfair, and unacceptable. You have proved how wrong I was to doubt you, and truly, I am sorry. You, and the rest of your generation did not go to France to fight for our country, to come home to be treated as I treated you. Thank you for opening my eyes. Well, until next time, Mr Crawley." He left the room and shut the door behind him.

Matthew sighed. He was glad the meeting was over. Enjoyable as it had been to be able to be a proper lawyer again, to be knowledgeable and helpful, he had been constantly aware of the need to prove himself, and this had made it more stressful and taxing than it would otherwise have been.

He was suddenly exhausted. There were still two hours before Stark was scheduled to arrive to take him home; he had decided to stay a while in order to get some paperwork done. Now, that seemed like less of a good idea. There was nothing he wanted more than to lie down and have Mary massage his aching back and shoulders while he told her about his day and she told him about hers. But he was not about to give up and leave early. He decided to ask Helen for some tea before starting on the sizeable mound of papers on his desk.

Before he had the chance to do anything though, Jonathon burst into the room, grinning broadly.

"Matthew! Forsyth was impressed with you, I met him on his way out. Things improved, then?"

"They did," Matthew replied.

"I must say, I'm rather impressed with how you dealt with him while I was there. God, I'm sorry you had to endure that. I'm not sure I could have."

"I… I've had to get used to it," Matthew said quietly. "You would too, if you were… like me."

Jonathon frowned. "Still. I think if I were in your position, I would be sitting at home every day moaning, not working and having to deal with men like him. Anyway, are you going home yet?"

"No, I'm being picked up in a couple of hours. Thought I might as well stay and get some work done while I'm here."

"I'll leave you to it then," Jonathon said, and he left.

* * *

When she arrived home, Mary went about in a daze of happiness. She walked in the gardens for a while, then tried and failed to concentrate on reading a book in their sitting room. She was glad Matthew was at work, because she doubted she could have behaved sensibly if he had been there before she had time to calm herself down. She had determined that it would be better not to say anything until the time was right, although really, she had no idea what that meant. She simply hoped that she would know what to say and when to say it by some sort of instinct.

Her good mood was slightly dampened when Matthew arrived home, looking weary. She had heard the car arrive, and went to the hall to greet him, and she saw immediately that he was tired. She went straight over to kiss him, then pushed him to their bedroom and helped him onto the bed. He sighed with relief as he relaxed back on the pillows and closed his eyes.

"Hard day at work?" she said gently, stroking his hair lovingly.

"Hmmm," he replied. Then he opened his eyes again. "Yes, it was actually. You know I had a meeting with one of the firm's most important clients."

"Yes," Mary said, still running her hand through his hair.

"Well, it seems important men like Mr Forsyth do not expect a respected law firm to provide them with a cripple for a lawyer," he said, trying hard to disguise the bitterness in his voice with lightness and humour. Mary wasn't fooled.

"Oh darling. How many times do I have to tell you…?"

"…not to call myself that, I know," Matthew finished for her. "Well, he certainly had no scruples about using that word. Oh Mary, will I always have to prove to every stranger that I am not mentally incapable just because my legs don't work?"

"I don't know, darling. But you must just hold onto the fact that you are _not_ mentally incapable, that you are clever and brilliant and… perfect. There will always be stupid, ignorant people in the world, but you don't always have to listen to them. I love you, darling, and I am so very proud of you. Don't ever let anyone make you think less of yourself just because they don't know you properly, and judge too soon." As she finished speaking, Mary leaned down and kissed him gently. "I love you," she whispered as she drew away.

"As I love you. Now, tell me about your day," Matthew said, pulling her down so she was lying with her head on his chest.

Mary told him about walking in the autumn leaves and about how she had longed to kick them like she had as a child. She told him about visiting his mother. But she didn't mention the most important thing that had happened that day. _Soon,_ she told herself. _When the time is right._

* * *

In November, Cora received news from Sybil that more than made up for the sadness she had felt since Edith's wedding. She opened her letter while she was eating her breakfast in bed, as she did every morning.

 _Dearest Mama,_

 _I hope you are sitting down and are prepared for important and amazing news. I have been waiting to tell you this for weeks, but I wanted to be absolutely certain. I expect by now you will have guessed what this wonderful news is, but I shall write it plainly anyway, for it gives me such joy to be able to do so. I am pregnant! The baby is due in late May or early June if all goes well. You are to be a grandmother!_

 _I do so hope that you and Papa will be pleased for me, whatever your opinion on my choice of husband, for I am happier than I have ever been. You may tell Papa, and I am writing to Mary and Edith myself. And I suppose you may tell Granny too, since she is to become a great-grandmother._

 _We have not yet decided where I will have the baby. Tom wishes it to be born in Ireland, but I would like so much for it to be born at Downton, if you and Papa would consent. There is plenty of time to decide on this, but I do predict many arguments with Tom over this, which is sad as we so rarely fight._

 _I am well, although I have had a little morning sickness. Tom looks after me admirably, so you needn't worry about a thing._

 _I must get on and write to Mary and Edith now, so I shall finish this happy letter and send it as soon as I can._

 _Love, Sybil_

Cora dropped the letter in amazement. Her baby Sybil, pregnant, soon to be a mother herself. It was too wonderful. She hoped Mary had received her letter too, for there was nothing Cora wanted more than to tell the world about this wonderful news, beginning with everyone in the house. She hoped Robert would come into her room soon because she was dying to tell him. And perhaps she should send O'Brien to fetch Mary.

But was it tactful to discuss this with Mary? When Mary could never have a child herself? Cora sighed. She still wasn't certain they had done the right thing in letting Mary marry Matthew. They were happy now, it was true, it was impossible not to see that. But what about the future? What about when Edith and Sybil both had children, when all of Mary's friends were mothers and then grandmothers, and she could never be either?

Cora shook herself. No, of course it was right that her daughter had married the man she had loved for so long. And Mary would have Downton, which Cora knew was as dear to her daughter as it was to her husband.

She didn't have to wait long to tell Robert the wonderful news. He came into her room just as she was putting the letter down on her bedside table and picking up the tea O'Brien had brought her with her breakfast.

"Robert!" she cried happily as he entered the room. Robert looked a little startled to be greeted so enthusiastically so early in the morning, when Cora was usually still half asleep.

"What is it, Cora?" Robert asked.

"Oh, Robert! We're going to be grandparents!" Cora said smiling widely at him.

"What?" Robert asked, stunned.

"Sybil's pregnant," Cora informed him. Robert stared at her and sat down heavily on the bed.

"I see," he said gravely. "So that's it then. No return, she's crossed the Rubicon."

"She crossed it when she married him, Robert," Cora said sternly. "And can't you try to be happy for her? You're going to be a grandfather for the first time. Doesn't that make you happy?"

"I suppose the child will be Irish, and Catholic too?" Robert asked with suppressed anger.

"Sybil says she doesn't know where the child will be born, and she doesn't mention faith. Oh, Robert, surely that's not what matters most? Sybil is going to become a mother and she is very happy, as we should be."

Robert sighed.

"Yes," he said eventually. "Yes, I am happy for her. It's too late to change what's already happened. Yes, of course I'm happy for her. I don't know what I was thinking."

At that moment, Mary knocked on the door and entered, clutching her own letter from Sybil.

"Have you got a letter from Sybil, Mama?" she asked, smiling.

"Yes, and she's told me of its contents," Robert answered for his wife.

"Isn't it wonderful, after only a few months of marriage," Mary said excitedly. "I'm going to be an aunt. That makes me sound so terribly old!"

"Not as old as being grandparents will make us sound," Cora said.

"And Mama will be a great-grandmother," Robert commented.

"I'm going to find Matthew to tell him. Sybil says I may, since she knows I would anyway," Mary said and left the room.

Cora looked up at Robert and frowned a little.

"Do you think she's alright?" she asked.

"What? Mary? Of course. She looked happy enough, didn't she?" he replied, not understanding why she wouldn't be.

"Yes, but… you don't think she's jealous, or sad? That she'll never have one of her own?" Cora asked tentatively.

Robert understood, and looked out the window.

"I don't know. She's so good at hiding her feelings, I feel that if I didn't know her so well, I'd think she didn't have any. But I do know her. Perhaps you're right. Perhaps we shouldn't make too much of a fuss over this for the time being."

Cora nodded her agreement.

Outside the bedroom, Mary had heard everything. She did not approve of eavesdropping, but she had heard Mama asking Papa 'Do you think she's alright?' as she was closing the door, and had known that it was about her she was speaking. She hadn't meant to, but she had stayed and heard the whole conversation.

It made her so angry. Why did everyone keep assuming and guessing how she felt instead of asking her, or assuming that she was capable of dealing with the consequences of her choices? She resented the suggestion that she might be jealous of Sybil; of course she was pleased and happy for her sister.

Although she knew that part of the reason she could hear this news without any jealousy was because of the hope she now had that she might one day have a child of her own, she was equally certain that whatever the circumstances, she could never have not been pleased and delighted for Sybil, and it hurt that her mother thought she would be jealous or sad. She was almost tempted to go back into the room and tell her parents what she thought of their assumptions and pity.

But that would mean admitting that she had been eavesdropping. And besides, they were only trying to be understanding and kind. She just wished they wouldn't.

She went downstairs to their private sitting room, where she found Matthew at his desk, looking through some papers. He twisted around to look at her when he heard her come in and smiled.

"Where did you go?" he asked, pushing away from the desk and turning his chair to face her. "I must say I got rather a shock when I came back from breakfast and started talking to you, only to find you weren't there."

"I was with Mama and Papa. We received letters this morning with the most wonderful news: Sybil is pregnant!"

Matthew's smile brightened. "That _is_ good news." He paused and looked seriously at Mary. "And Robert…?"

"Papa may be uncomfortable with the fact his grandchild will be half Irish, but it will still be his first grandchild. He was a little… shocked at first, I think, but he's delighted really. Oh, I wish Sybil were here, so I could tell her in person how happy I am for her. I'm looking forward to being an aunt already, although I vow I will _not_ be like Aunt Rosamund, and interfere with every detail of my niece or nephew's life."

Mary sat down heavily on the sofa, thinking of the damage Rosamund's interfering had done, the pain and unhappiness she had unwittingly caused.

When Mary was silent for a minute, Matthew began to wonder what was on her mind, and assumed immediately that she was sad about the fact that though she could be an aunt, she would never be a mother. They tried not to spend a lot of time contemplating this fact, but now, it was impossible not to remember the truth of their situation.

Forcing his own sadness to the back of his mind, Matthew went over to Mary and reached out to hold her hand.

"Oh Mary, I'm so sorry. It should have been you to give Robert his first grandchild. If you only knew how much I wish I could give you a child…"

She looked into his eyes, and her expression left Matthew baffled and confused. Instead of the sadness he expected, there was a strange mixture of emotions: fear, excitement, indecision, longing. She opened her mouth as if she were going to say something, then closed it again.

"Mary, are you alright?"

"Perfectly," she answered without thinking. Then she looked down at their clasped hands and smiled slightly. "I… there's something I need to tell you."

Matthew, bewildered but intrigued, waited silently for her to continue.

"A couple of weeks ago, your mother told me something. Something that could be… very good news. Although nothing is certain, which is why I… didn't know how to tell you. You see, when her friend Dr Wilson was here, he told her that he knew of men, patients in the London hospital he works at, who…" She paused and looked up at Matthew with a strange half-smile on her lips, then looked down and continued. "Who had injuries similar to yours, and who have fathered children."

It took Matthew a moment to take in what Mary had said, then he sat up straighter and looked at her with wide eyes.

"What?" he breathed.

"It may be possible for us to have a child," Mary whispered. She leaned forwards, looking into his eyes, and then kissed him before he could say anything. Matthew returned her kiss automatically, too stunned even to think.

Slowly, his mind cleared and he began to think rationally. He drew away and Mary, still looking up at his face, saw sadness in his eyes.

"Darling, you _know_ I can't…" he said, his voice catching slightly, despite his attempt to keep calm. It was just so unexpected for this to come up now, after months of not mentioning it, and it was painful to see her hope when he knew that whatever Dr Wilson or anyone else said, it just _couldn't_ be possible.

Mary moved, and put her arms around him.

"No, I _don't_ know, and nor do you. I mean, we've never tried, have we?"

"Mary, I can't feel… there."

"I know. Believe me, Matthew, I'm not being naïve or stupid, and even if I was, you can't possibly think that your mother, an experienced nurse, and her friend, a doctor in a London hospital, are also wrong. And you know, they telephoned a specialist, a colleague of Dr Wilson's, and he said that although it's impossible to know without… trying, there is a chance."

"But-" Matthew began, but Mary interrupted.

"Just listen, will you. He said that not being able to feel… there, doesn't necessarily mean it's not possible for you to…" She paused and fiddled with the material of her skirt. "You see, he said every incomplete injury is different; some patients regained sensation but no movement, some vice versa, some in between, so it really is impossible to know. He said the only way to know was to try, to…experiment."

Matthew sat completely still, staring straight ahead. He didn't want to let himself hope, because whatever Mary said, it still seemed impossible. But if what she said was true, there was hope. Whatever he thought now, Mary was right, they didn't _know_ anything at all anymore. There was a part of him that was excited and desperate to try. But a larger part of him was terrified of disappointing her, for it was obvious that she was already getting her hopes up. Her words were cautious, but her eyes betrayed the power of her hope, and he was painfully aware that it was likely she would be disappointed. And that would make it so much harder to go back to acceptance of their situation.

"Why did you wait so long to tell me?" he asked slowly after a while.

"Because I didn't know what to say, how to tell you. And Isobel didn't tell me until after Edith's wedding because in the midst of all the wedding preparations, it didn't seem like the best time. And… well, in many ways, it's easier not to hope. And I suppose I knew you'd react like this."

Matthew frowned. "I just don't know what to think. I don't want to hope, but it's impossible not to. And," he said, suddenly looking flushed and embarrassed, "you had this conversation with _Mother_? And she talked about it with George Wilson?"

Mary laughed. "I'm afraid so. And you know, she went into rather more… detail, too. I must say, it was one of the most embarrassing and awkward conversations I've ever had. But it was necessary. Her interfering might drive everyone insane, but it is usually necessary."

She laughed again, and Matthew, always having found her laughter infectious, laughed too, the excitement and happiness becoming the dominant emotion rather than the worry.

They looked at each other, each wanting to speak, but unsure what to say. Then Mary kissed him, and they poured all their confused emotions into the kiss, holding each other tightly and not pausing even for breath.

When they finally drew apart, Mary stroked Matthew's face gently, and looked into his eyes.

"Do you want to… experiment now?" she asked, her voice soft.

"I…" Matthew began, suddenly scared. Then he looked again at his beautiful wife and couldn't resist her for a moment longer. "Yes," he breathed.

* * *

Later, they lay on their bed with the curtains drawn, naked but warm, both smiling and filled with incredulous joy.

"That did really happen, didn't it? I'm not dreaming?" Matthew breathed, lying on his back staring up at the canopy of the bed.

"Yes," Mary replied, her voice quiet and languid, still in a happy daze.

"But how can it be possible? I mean, I couldn't feel a thing. At least, not _there_. It felt… good, but only like it does whenever I'm with you."

"I don't know _how_ it happened. But Matthew, it _did_ happen. You got hard. And held it for quite a while. And it was only the first time we've tried. Perhaps next time, we could try… I mean, maybe I could…" Mary broke off, embarrassed. They might not be shy in showing their affection and love, but talking about it still made Mary feel slightly awkward.

Matthew smiled. Yes, there were all sorts of things they might try next time. Because there would be a next time, and a next. He wanted so much now to be a proper husband to her, to do this really properly, to get… inside her. Of course, it would never be quite normal, but after today, there seemed to be so many possibilities.

"Your mother said…" Mary began.

"Please, can we not talk about my mother? I still can't believe she talked to you about… this," Matthew interrupted.

"Alright. But aren't you glad she did? Talk to me I mean?"

"Well, I'm glad we found out about this, but still…" he replied, still mortified at the thought of the conversation that must have taken place.

Mary giggled, a sound very different from her usual laugh; she felt almost drunk on happiness after what had just happened, and found Matthew's embarrassment hilarious.

"Mary?" Matthew said suddenly, his voice urgent, "We say nothing to anyone. Not Robert, not mother, nobody. We can't let them hope when it's still not certain."

"Of course. We carry on as we always have. But surely, we must say something to Isobel. I mean, she knows we…" Mary said hesitantly.

Matthew frowned. Mary was right. "We'll tell her… we can just mention to her that we are happily married _in every way,_ but not to say anything to anyone or get her hopes up."

"Alright."

They lay there for a few more minutes before Matthew pushed himself up on his elbows and frowned slightly.

"Perhaps we should get up. We're going out for a drive around the estate with Robert later, remember, and I need to check some papers," he said.

Mary sat up slowly. She looked at their clothes, which were strewn all over the bed and the floor. She knew her blouse would be hopelessly creased and would need to be ironed.

"We're going to have some explaining to do to Anna and William."

"It's hardly the first time we've gone to bed in the day," Matthew replied with a smirk. "One more kiss before we get up?"

Without waiting for an answer, he pulled Mary down to him again, and the necessity of getting up was soon forgotten.


	25. Chapter 25

The more Robert thought about Sybil's pregnancy, the more he got used to the idea and the more excited he became. He decided to invite Sybil and Tom for Christmas, a decision which surprised and delighted the rest of the family.

He had decided to have a traditional Christmas like the ones before the war, with guests, and shooting on New Year's day, and a Christmas tree, and everything else that they had not been able to have during the war, and then because of the fact that Downton had still been convalescent home the year before.

Robert and Cora enthusiastically drew up guest lists, and Robert discussed the shooting at length with the gamekeeper.

"Don't you think people may have had enough shooting for one lifetime?" Cora cautioned him, when she saw the number of proposed guests for the shoot who had fought in the war.

Robert thought for a minute, then shook his head.

"It's different. That was war, this is sport. And that is what we have always done on New Year's day."

Cora looked unconvinced, but kept quiet. Once Robert had decided to keep tradition, there wasn't much she could ever do to change his mind. If she tried, he would only say that she was American and didn't understand.

"Do you think Tom can shoot?" he asked.

Cora smiled to herself. If it turned out that Tom was a good shot, it was likely Robert's opinion of him would improve vastly.

"I don't know. I doubt he's ever shot pheasants before though," she said. Robert thought for a minute.

"What about Anthony?" he asked.

"With one arm? I very much doubt it, Robert. He couldn't hold the gun up," Cora replied.

"It's a shame. He used to be such a good shot," Robert sighed. He though for another minute, and Cora guessed what his next question would be before he asked it.

"What about Matthew?" he asked.

"I don't know why you think I would know Robert. Can you shoot sitting down?" Cora answered.

"I don't see why not," Robert said thoughtfully. "Yes, it seems entirely possible. Should I find Mary and ask her?"

Cora rolled her eyes. She doubted they would hear any conversation from Robert that wasn't about shooting for a long time.

"Yes, go on Robert. And I'll write to Sybil about Tom. I'm sure he could have a go, even if he hasn't done it before."

Robert went to Mary and Matthew's sitting room and knocked on the door. It was the place he was most likely to find one, if not both of them. He opened the door when he heard Matthew's voice saying 'come in'.

Matthew was sitting at the desk working. Mary was sitting on the sofa reading a book. She set it down when Robert came in and smiled at him.

"Papa! It's unusual to see you in here," she said.

"I wanted to talk to you, Mary. You're usually in here."

"We shall have to go somewhere else if you wish to speak to me, Papa. Matthew is working," Mary said. Hearing her, Matthew twisted around in his chair to look at them and said,

"Oh, don't worry. Don't let me drive you out."

Robert still couldn't understand why Matthew worked when there really was no need to, but he had given up trying to understand a long time ago.

"No, it's alright. You look busy, my boy. I rather fancy a walk in the garden; it's quite fine, for the time of year. We'll leave you in peace," he said amiably, and Mary stood up. She went over to Matthew and kissed him quickly on the cheek, making Robert smile as he watched their easy intimacy.

"This is all rather mysterious, Papa," Mary said when they were out in the garden.

"Oh, it's nothing exciting or mysterious really. You know we're holding the New Year's Day shoot again this year?"

"Yes Papa. You've talked about nothing else for the last few days," Mary said, smiling but still curious.

"I was wondering whether, erm, whether Matthew could take part. Do you think he could?" Robert asked hopefully.

"Well, to be honest, I should think he's probably had enough shooting for one lifetime. But I suppose it is possible to shoot sitting down. Ask him," Mary said.

"I will. I just though I ought to ask you first. So he wouldn't be embarrassed if he had to say he couldn't."

Mary smiled at her father and shook her head.

"You needn't tiptoe around him like this, Papa. But anyway, I can predict precisely what he will say. First, he will say it would cause too much trouble for everyone. Then, if you suggest that perhaps he couldn't do it or that it would tire him out too much, he will say he'll be fine. But I think as long as William can get his chair to the right place, he should manage. Ask him at dinner," she said. "Just… try not to make him feel as if he has to, Papa. I mean, it would be perfectly understandable if he never wanted to hold a gun again. And it was hardly his favourite activity even before."

"Of course I won't make him feel he has to. And shooting for sport is very different from shooting in a war. I just thought it would be enjoyable."

"Like I said, ask him."

Robert nodded, and went back to the house. Mary went to sit on her favourite bench and enjoyed the weak sunlight after the rain they had been having for weeks. Whatever her father said, she knew he would almost certainly make Matthew feel that he ought to go shooting. She knew perfectly well that although it was true her father wanted everyone to enjoy themselves, and that his idea of enjoyment was shooting, it was also true that he was going to take this opportunity to show off his new sons-in-law to all the guests.

But perhaps it would be alright. Perhaps Papa was right that shooting for sport was not the same as war.

Robert asked Matthew at dinner that night as Mary had suggested, and Mary didn't even bother trying to stifle her laughter when Matthew answered exactly as she had predicted.

"Perhaps you should go out once at least before New Year," she suggested, and Robert and Matthew agreed. They would go out the following week, and shoot the first birds of the season.

* * *

"Got one!" Matthew shouted triumphantly as he saw a pheasant fall from the sky and into the trees. He still felt the sorrow when he killed one of the birds. It seemed such a shame to kill them just for sport. But their death was quick and they were raised for this purpose. It seemed ridiculous to be sad about a few birds after what he had seen and done in the war…

But he had told himself he wouldn't think about that now.

"Well done," Robert shouted encouragingly, and Matthew smiled. This was only the first one he could be sure he had hit, and they had been out for a while. Robert was being very helpful and encouraging, but Matthew knew he wasn't much good. At least he could actually do this; he hadn't expected to be able to do any of these country sports again. He didn't particularly enjoy shooting, but he knew Robert wanted to show off his three new sons-in-law over Christmas and New Year, and didn't want to let Robert down.

Robert fired another shot, and hit his target. Matthew fired again and missed again. Then Robert handed his shotgun to his loader.

"Shall we call it a day?" he asked.

"Yes, if you want. I suppose it must be getting rather late. I have managed a grand total of one, or possibly two," Matthew replied.

Robert walked over to him and patted his shoulder.

"That's not so bad. Perhaps we could go out again before New Year," he said.

"I'd like that," Matthew replied. And it was true; despite the fact he didn't enjoy the actual shooting, and the fact that he was not very good at it, he had enjoyed spending the day with Robert. It reminded him of the days he spend with his father when he was young, when they had left behind the streets of Manchester for the countryside. He remembered fishing and riding and how he had adored and almost worshipped his father, thinking him to be the cleverest and most interesting man in the world. It was not the same with Robert, of course; he did not have that childish devotion to him that he had had to his father. But Robert was the closest thing he had to a father now and they really had had a good day.

He was, however, glad they were going back to the house now. As William pushed him back to the waiting car, each jolt because of the uneven ground caused pain to shoot through his lower back. His shoulders were aching too, and he was gritting his teeth without realising it.

Mary was at the door to meet them when they returned. She had been expecting Matthew to be tired and cold, and had had Anna run a hot bath ready for him. She bit her lip when she saw his grimace as William lifted him out of the car. She went to push his chair, thinking he looked rather too tired to do it himself.

"There's a hot bath waiting for you inside," she said. Matthew smiled appreciatively.

"You have no idea how welcome that news is!" he said tiredly.

"How did you do?" she asked.

"How do you think? You know I've always been a bad shot. My grand total was one. But I enjoyed it. Robert did too, but then, I doubt he could even keep count of how many he got," Matthew said, making Mary smile.

* * *

Matthew sighed with pleasure as he sank back in the hot water. The warmth was welcome after a day spent outside in the cold winter wind, and it soothed his sore muscles. He closed his eyes and relaxed. He was so very tired…

"Don't fall asleep, darling," Mary teased, and she reached out and splashed him with the bath water. He opened his eyes and splashed her back.

"Matthew!" she said indignantly, "I'm dressed! You can't splash someone who's fully dressed."

"You shouldn't sit next to the bath then," he replied, unrepentant. "Anyway, you'll have to change for dinner soon enough."

He began to wash himself and Mary watched him, loving watching his body. She loved him so very much; the smooth suppleness of his skin, the strength of his muscular arms and torso, every inch of his body. _We might be able to have children,_ she thought as she looked through the water at _that_ part of his body. That seemed to be all she could think about at the moment, and she suspected it was the same for him, considering the frequency with which he suggested they 'experiment'.

She reached out and stroked his hair, then moved on to massaging his shoulders. He stopped washing himself and relaxed.

"I'll be in here all night if you carry on like that," he said, although really, he wished she would never stop. But Mary drew away, teasing him. He twisted around and reached out to pull her back towards him, but slipped somehow and cried out as he felt himself slipping down into the water. He'd momentarily forgotten how hard it was to balance without his lower body.

Mary stood up and caught him in time, and stayed with her arms around him for a minute.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"Fine," he said, feeling embarrassed and a little foolish. Then he looked at Mary as she stood back, and laughed.

"What?" she said. Matthew gestured towards her clothes. She looked down and realised she was soaking wet. "Oh. That," she said, and laughed.

"Can I splash you as much as I like now?" Matthew asked mischievously.

"No," Mary replied, "you'll make the floor wet and slippery."

"Come and join me then," Matthew said. "Come on, you're so wet already."

Mary looked at him, and couldn't resist. She slowly took off her wet clothes, and her dry ones, Matthew watching transfixed, and climbed into the opposite end of the bath from Matthew.

"Come here," he said, and reached out to pull her closer. She turned and carefully parted his legs before sitting between them and leaning back onto his warm body. He ran his hands up and down her thighs and arms and back, and she turned around to kiss him.

"I do love you, you know," she said when she drew away, "even when you splash me."

They lost track of time, forgetting about dinner and oblivious to the fact that the bath water was getting cold, until they were both startled by William's voice calling through the door,

"Are you ready to get out, sir? Mr Carson's rung the dressing gong."

Mary sat up straight. Was it that time already?

"Yes, just a moment, William. Lady Mary's with me," Matthew called back. They had long ago given up pretending for William and Anna.

Mary climbed out of the bath and found a towel, then went through into her bedroom, where Anna was waiting for her.

She and Matthew dressed in rather a hurry, and were still a little late for dinner. Neither Robert nor Cora commented on this though.

Dinner was rather quiet, as it often was these days now it was only the four of them. Robert and Cora had a conversation about who to invite for New Years Eve, and Mary and Matthew half-listened, being no more than mildly interested in who would be there.

When Mary and Cora went through to the drawing room, Robert went to sit next to Matthew. He carried on talking enthusiastically about going out shooting again soon, and about the guests who were coming for New Year, but when he realised Matthew sounded less enthusiastic, he trailed off and looked hard at his son-in-law.

"I haven't tired you out have I? Are you alright?" he asked.

"It's been a long day. But I'm alright. Just a bit tired," Matthew replied, taking a sip of brandy.

"Don't let me keep you up. Go to bed if you're tired. I'll tell Mary," Robert said concernedly, but Matthew shook his head, and Robert didn't press him. But he did suggest they go through to the ladies rather sooner than he would otherwise have done.

Almost as soon as the men came through, Mary said she was going to bed, knowing Matthew would come with her.

When they were in bed, Mary gave him a thorough massage, and Matthew felt the pain in his back and shoulders begin to ease, and it wasn't long before he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

 _The guns were banging deafeningly loudly, but not quite loud enough to block out the screams of terror and pain. Explosions were going off in every direction, so he couldn't tell which way to run. He heard something behind him and turned to see a German soldier rushing at him with a bayonet fixed to the front of his shotgun. He reached for his own gun, and just in time, managed to shoot before the man reached him. The blood sprayed everywhere, but when it reached the ground, it disappeared in the pools of red already there._

 _Then someone was shouting at him to run; they were coming, the voice said. He realised he had fallen over at some point and was lying on his back in the mud and the blood. There was more shouting, but the guns were too loud. He tried to get up, to stand up and run, but he couldn't. He was stuck in the mud, he thought at first. But he looked down and saw that he wasn't. Then why couldn't he move his legs? He tried again, but nothing happened. He knew from some primitive instinct that they, the enemy, were approaching. They would be here soon, and then he would be dead. He had to get up and run, but now his arms wouldn't move either. He lay there helpless, waiting for death, desperately willing his limbs to obey his mind, but finding that they wouldn't._

 _Then the sound of the guns got louder, and above then, the sound of the high-pitched whistle that meant the enemy were attacking. They were coming, and there was nothing he could do. He tried to turn his head, so he could at least see them coming, but found that even that wouldn't move now. He was totally paralysed and all he could do was listen as he heard them come closer and closer, firing shots in every direction, one of which was bound to hit him… And then they were there, and he felt their heavy boots treading on his helpless body, and there was nothing he could do…_

Matthew woke from his dream, and couldn't remember where he was, or what was real. All he knew was that he had to get up and run, because they were coming for him. He sat up and tried to stand, but his legs still wouldn't obey him. He tried to roll sideways and swing his legs around, but something went wrong and he felt himself falling, then hitting the floor with a thud.

Mary woke up, terrified as one is when one is woken by a loud noise. She sat up and turned to look at Matthew, but he wasn't in bed. She shook herself to wake herself up properly, leaned over, and saw Matthew on the floor. She got up and rushed around the bed to him.

"Darling! What happened? Are you alright?" she asked frantically.

The fall had woken Matthew properly, and everywhere he could feel seemed to hurt.

"I… I had a dream, a nightmare. There was so much blood… They were coming for me, I had to get up and run, but I couldn't…" he said almost too quickly for Mary to understand.

"Hush, darling. You're safe now, I've got you. You're home, with me. Nobody's coming for you. It's over, my darling, it's all over," Mary said comfortingly, holding him in her arms.

His whole body was shaking with violent sobs. Mary rubbed his back like she had done when he was ill in the hospital and held him tight in an attempt to contain and stop the shaking.

Slowly, the sobbing subsided, and Mary drew away a little to look him in the eye.

"You're safe, Matthew. I'm here. You're safe. I love you," she said gently. He looked back at her. She saw with relief that his eyes had lost the terror and confusion she had seen in them earlier.

"I'm sorry. It was just so… real," he said quietly. Over the past months, his nightmares had decreased in frequency, but not in intensity.

"You do not need to apologise, my darling. Now, have you hurt yourself anywhere?" Mary asked, deciding that the best way to calm Matthew down was to be calm and methodical about it. She helped him sit up, leaning against the bed, and checked his whole body to see if he'd been hurt in the fall, her touch gentle and soothing. Thankfully, he seemed to be alright. She breathed a sigh of relief.

"I think you're alright. I expect your legs will be bruised, but, well…"

"I can't feel it. It's fine," he said calmly.

"You gave me such a fright! Was it… the war?" Mary asked.

"I can't remember a bad dream that wasn't about the war," Matthew replied.

"The shooting yesterday. Reminded you, I suppose," Mary said.

"I don't need reminding," Matthew said darkly. "It was just… the noise. I thought, yesterday, that I could put it out of my mind, the war. But I'll never be able to do that. I seems so long ago, but the memories are as fresh as if it had been yesterday."

Mary felt her heart clench in sympathy for him, and leaned closer to kiss him gently. At first he didn't return the kiss, but then his mouth responded, and they kissed properly.

"Right," Mary said, suddenly taking charge. "You need to get back on the bed. We can't stay on the floor until William comes."

"What time is it?" Matthew asked.

"Early morning. Five, six o'clock? Come on. How are we going to do this? I don't think I can lift you all the way onto the bed. Can you pull yourself up a bit?"

Matthew tried to pull himself up, holding onto the side of the bed, but he couldn't do it. Then Mary tried lifting him, despite his protestations that he was far too heavy for her, but that didn't work either.

"Looks like I'm stuck here until William comes then," Matthew said.

"We could ring the bell. Or I could go and find someone. Some of the servants will be up by now," Mary suggested.

"No. They'll be busy, and I expect William is still in bed."

Mary thought for a minute, then took all the pillows off the bed and put them on the floor. Then she went and brought the cushions from the sofa and armchairs next door and put them with the cushions.

"Come on. We'll lie on these together. More comfortable than the floor," she said.

They lay together on the mattress of cushions until Anna came in to wake them. She stared at them on the floor, looking so astounded and confused, Mary had to laugh.

"It's a long story, Anna," she said, and Anna nodded, still looking confused. "Would you help me lift Matthew onto the bed?"

Anna nodded, and together, they managed it, and all three of them were laughing by the time they had. Anna picked up the cushions and pillows and returned them to where they belonged.

Mary and Matthew drank their tea in bed together, as if nothing had happened.

"I don't suppose I could persuade you not to go shooting with Papa again?" Mary asked, without much confidence.

"No. I doubt the same thing will happen again. Sorry about all that. I expect you were fast asleep before I woke you."

"You have nothing to apologise for. Anyway, I don't think I've lain on the floor since I was a very small child. It was… fun," Mary said.

"Have I ever told you how magnificent you are, Mary?"

"Once or twice. But you can never say things like that enough times."

"Fine. Mary, you are magnificent and I love you. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"And I love you, and I don't know what I'd do without you. Now kiss me, if you're so insistent on apologising," Mary said playfully, and he did.


	26. Chapter 26

_**I'm sorry it took longer than usual to update, but I've been busy. Hopefully you won't have to wait as long for the next chapter, but I am beginning to think that setting myself a target of posting a chapter a week was a bit ambitious.**_

 _ **Thank you for all the favourites, follows and reviews!**_

Christmas was not looked forward to as it usually was, despite Robert's plans to make it the best Christmas in years, because with the approach of Christmas came the approach of Bates' trial for murder, which was to be held in early January. And they all knew that if he was found guilty, he would he hanged.

As the family who would be staying over Christmas and the New Year began to arrive, Anna felt as if she was being crushed and suffocated by her fear for John and her knowledge that his fate would be decided definitely in a few short weeks.

Sybil and Tom arrived first. Their arrival was less awkward than the last time they had come to visit, and although Tom was largely ignored by Robert, he didn't mind, and was simply glad to see Sybil happy with her family.

Almost as soon as Sybil arrived, Mary and Edith led her away to Mary's bedroom where Edith begged to feel Sybil's tiny bump, hardly noticeable unless one knew it was there, and Mary watched them, smiling to herself. They asked Sybil all about pregnancy, and she delighted in telling them about the magic of having a new life growing inside you.

The next to arrive was Aunt Rosamund. Robert usually found that his sister drove him insane with irritation after a few days, and he had not been looking forward to Tom's presence in his house. But when the guests arrived, he found he was glad that the house felt full again, after the quiet following Edith's marriage.

On Christmas day, the family and servants assembled in front of the Christmas tree for the present-giving. Isobel, Violet, Edith and Anthony were also present, and watched as Cora and Mary handed out the presents to the servants.

Anna felt as if everything was unreal, so happy and beautiful and ordinary did it all seem, when she knew that John was in prison, waiting for the trial that would decide whether he lived or died. She was hardly aware of Mary giving her her gift, and giving her hand a gentle reassuring squeeze, and she ripped the paper automatically. But she gasped quietly when she opened the little box and saw the necklace, a beautiful golden heart on a delicate gold chain. The housemaids gathered around enviously to see it, and Anna looked up to see Mary smiling kindly at her. She smiled weakly in return, but it was a great effort to force her face to be happy when she was so unhappy and worried.

When the rest of the servants were eating their Christmas lunch, Anna found she could not bear the cheerfulness of them all, and went for a solitary walk outside. She needed to be alone, to think about John, and the Christmas they should have been having, their first as a married couple. It felt as if they would never be happy and safe together. In only a few weeks, John could be dead, and her life would be over. She walked quickly, not heading in any particular direction and not noticing where she was going.

Upstairs, the family were serving themselves their own lunch, the only time they did so in the whole year. As Mary filled her plate, she looked beyond the table and out the window, and saw Anna walking alone away from the house. Her heart ached in sympathy for her friend. She imagined how she would feel if it were Matthew who was on trial for his life and shuddered. She had tried in the last few months to be kind to Anna, and to help her in any way possible, but she felt so powerless. She was tempted to run after Anna now, but she doubted she would be of any help. She turned to Matthew who was next to her.

"It just seems so wrong to be celebrating when Bates is on trial for his life and Anna is so alone and unhappy," she said sadly.

"I know," Matthew replied. "I wish there was something we could do, but there's nothing we can do now, not until the trial. And Mary, Anna is not alone; she has you, and Mrs Hughes and all the others downstairs. I cannot even begin to imagine what she is going through, but I know you would never make her face it alone. When I last spoke to Murray, he seemed optimistic, so we can at least hope for the best. And I expect if Bates were here to ask, he would not object to Christmas joy. Come on, I want you to open my present."

Mary sighed, hoping desperately that Matthew was right, and went to sit by the fire. Matthew brought her his gift and she carefully removed the wrapping paper to reveal a deep blue box. It was heavy. Mary looked at Matthew.

"Go on, open it," he said. Mary smiled when she saw a sort of childish excitement in his eyes; she knew he loved to surprise her, and his excitement every time he did made up for the fact that she had never really enjoyed surprises.

She opened the box and pulled back a layer of thin white tissue paper to reveal a beautiful necklace of black jet. Each stone gleamed brightly in the firelight, looking almost as if the warm, flickering light was coming from deep within the stones rather than being reflected in them. Mary gasped at the beauty of it, and stroked her hand across each teardrop shaped stone in wonder at the way the black stones seemed alive with light.

"Oh Matthew, it's beautiful!" Mary breathed.

"Real Whitby jet, darling. Take it out and look on the back, on the metal setting of the biggest stone," Matthew said eagerly, and Mary looked at him strangely before doing as he said.

Engraved in the metal were two 'M's entwined and a tiny heart. Mary felt the thin lines in the smooth, cool metal with her finger, then turned to Matthew.

"Very lovely, darling. But nobody will be able to see it," she said, smiling at the pointless but very sweet gesture.

"No. But we'll know it's there, and that's what's important. You'll always have this to remind you of my love, whatever happens in the future."

"As if I could ever need to be reminded of your love!" Mary said, shaking her head and smiling. "And what do you mean 'whatever happens in the future'?"

Matthew sighed and looked seriously at her. "I know you wouldn't forget, darling. But… I won't be around forever, Mary. You know well enough I'm likely to die before you…" he said quietly, but Mary interrupted.

"Don't you dare talk like that, Matthew Crawley," she said angrily. "You will live to be an old man, and I to be an old woman, and we shall grow old together and never forget how much we love each other. Now don't you dare ruin Christmas by talking so morbidly." She reached out and squeezed his hand, and he looked at her apologetically. He tried to smile and forget his dark thoughts, but try as he might, he could not quite banish them from his mind. It was when he was happiest that he remembered that he and Mary did not have forever together, and even forever would not be long enough.

But now was not the time to think about it. He forced his mind back to Mary's admiration of his gift to her, and the joy he felt whenever he looked at her. Each day was a gift, and it was his duty to make the most of every day they did have together.

"Well, I'm glad you like it. Now, come on, try it on," he said more cheerfully. "Here, I'll fasten it at the back for you."

Mary went to perch on his knees so he could reach the back of her neck. She felt his fingers gently brush her skin, and she felt her skin tingle at his touch. He took longer than was necessary to fasten the necklace, and she could feel his warm breath on the back of her neck, and shivered with pleasure. He leaned forward and surprised her by kissing her neck.

"Matthew! Not now. Everyone will see!" she whispered.

"And what will they see?" he asked, his voice almost as soft as hers. "They'll see that I love you very much, and I expect they probably know that already. Anyway, it's Christmas. Who is going to mind?"

Mary conceded this point, and let him kiss her again before she got up.

The day proceeded as Christmas day always did, with the traditional dinner, The Game afterwards, and bed very late.

When they were finally in bed, the distractions of the day were over, and Mary found she could no longer distract herself from the thought of the kind of Christmas Bates must be having, alone in a dark prison cell. She had never, of course, visited a prison, and so did not really know what it would be like. But her imagination furnished her with the details, and it was easy to imagine what a horrible place it must be.

"What are you thinking about, darling?" Matthew asked, looking at her worried face with concern.

"Bates," she answered quietly, and Matthew looked away sadly.

"Tell me, honestly, what hope has he got?" Mary asked after a minute.

"Honestly, I don't know. It's impossible to know the strength of the prosecution's case until the trial itself. They don't want to give us a chance to prepare our defence any better than they can help. But the main point is that he didn't do it, and therefore there can be no evidence that is anything but circumstantial."

"Will Anna have to testify?" Mary asked worriedly.

"No, Anna will be spared that. A wife cannot be compelled testify against her husband."

"Thank goodness," Mary said, relieved.

"Have you decided whether you're going or not?" Matthew asked.

"I think I should. For Anna. I don't know how Murray got the trial held in York, but since it's so close, it would seem silly not to go. But if the worst happens, I doubt it will make any difference at all who is there. I don't know what Anna will do. Oh, God Matthew, how did this happen? How can an innocent man be on trial for murder, when we all know he is innocent? He has done nothing wrong, and yet he has spent months in prison, and may be hanged… Oh, it is too horrible to think about."

Matthew put his arm around Mary.

"Don't lose hope, Mary. There is still hope. Murray sounds confident, and I have great faith in his judgement. And Robert's good opinion of Bates will count for a lot. Most people who are tried for murder do not end up being hanged. Even if the trial goes against him, there is always the possibility of a successful appeal," he said, more confidently than he felt.

"Will you come?" Mary asked suddenly. She thought it would be better to have someone who understood what was happening next to her, to explain to her, and more importantly to Anna, what was going on.

"I don't think… I'm not sure how easy that would be," he said, thinking about the innumerable stairs in most courthouses he had been in.

"I'm sure it would be possible. And you would understand everything better than we would. Anna will need someone to explain it all to her. And I need you by my side," Mary said. Matthew looked at her, frowning. He could see the sense in what she said, but still, it didn't seem like a brilliant idea.

"I've been to the courthouse in York before, years ago, and it's full of stairs, Mary," he said.

"William could…" she began, but Matthew cut across her.

"I do not want to be carried about like an invalid. No, you'll be fine without me. Surely Robert can explain some of it?" he said hopefully.

"I do not need a man to explain, because as a _mere_ _woman_ I am ignorant of such things, I need someone who understands how these things work, namely a lawyer. Papa is not a lawyer. You are. Bates is on trial for his life, and Anna is terrified she is going to lose her husband. What is a few minutes of embarrassment to that? Please, Matthew," she asked, stroking his face gently as she spoke.

Matthew thought. It suddenly seemed selfish to be worrying about the few minutes' indignity when Bates and Anna were facing much worse fates. What right did he have to complain? And he would have to get used to being carried if he was ever going to lead anything like a normal life. He couldn't carry on not going places if there were stairs.

"Alright. If you and Anna need me, I'll be there," he said finally.

"Thank you. You have no idea how much I appreciate this. I love you, my darling," she said almost happily.

"As I love you."

He kissed her tenderly, then they relaxed back on the pillows.

The kiss had banished the horrible thoughts of Bates from her mind, and Mary's thoughts were now occupied with quite different things. Every inch of her body that was touching her husband's seemed to tingle, and she was wonderfully aware of his body next to hers. But he was lying quite still, and she assumed he was too tired for love making; it had been a long day.

Although after the past few weeks, it did seem rather unusual. Since they had discovered what was possible, it seemed he had wanted to do nothing else. Of course, Mary had not been in the least reluctant, as it seemed like such a miracle, and made him so happy. But while it was wonderful that it seemed there might be a possibility of their having children in the future, for her, it was no better than anything else they had done since their marriage.

Matthew lay still and breathed in the scent of her. She was so very beautiful, so perfect. He loved her so much. And he wanted to love her _properly._ Months after their marriage, he wanted to finally be a proper husband to her. In the past few weeks, they had experimented, which had involved kissing and touching. Once, she had even... with her mouth... The memory made him smile.

And yet, it had all been for the purpose of seeing if it was possible for him to make love to her properly. Discovering that that part of him was not completely dead had been wonderful, but since he couldn't actually feel it, having her touch him there was no more pleasurable than the love making they had enjoyed since their marriage. What he really wanted was to love her as she deserved to be loved.

Was she still and silent because she was tired, or because she thought he was? And would she want to try it now? It wouldn't be perfect, he knew that, but if there was ever going to be any hope of children, then it needed to happen, and his desire for her became more and more fierce as he lay and wondered.

"Mary?" he whispered after a while.

"Hmm?"

"Are you… tired?"

"It's been a long day, and it's late. Are you?"

"Not especially. Are you… too tired?"

Mary smiled to herself in the dark. No, of course he was not too tired to make love. And nor was she.

"Not too tired, no," she said. She turned and began to stroke his hair and face, her breath quickening when he reached out and touched her breast.

"Mary?" he said again, his voice full of desire. "Do you think… Do you think I could… be a proper husband to you?"

"You are-" she began, a hint of frustration in her voice.

"You know what I mean. Do you want to try? Now?"

When she didn't answer immediately, Matthew began to worry that she didn't want to.

Until this moment, Mary hadn't known what she wanted. But now, caught up in the excitement of the moment, she suddenly knew that she wanted to do more than they had done before, that she needed him inside her, right now. And for the first time, it seemed like a real possibility. She whispered, almost too quietly to hear,

"Yes."

They kissed, deeply and passionately, and with a certain desperation, the result of the nervousness they both felt but would not admit to. Mary slowly drew a line down his body with her hand, and Matthew tried not to think about it too hard when her hand went below where he could feel.

She touched him like she had done many times in the last few weeks, and felt a thrill of excitement when felt him getting hard in her hand. She continued what she was doing, her excitement building. Yes, tonight was the night they would finally do this

She pushed herself up and looked down into his eyes, and although it was too dark to see properly, she felt that connection, that thrill she felt whenever their eyes met. Carefully, and without breaking eye contact, she straddled him, continuing to stroke him down there, hoping, praying almost, that this would work. His hands were all over her body, making her need to do this even greater. She lowered herself carefully, and before she lost the courage, she positioned herself and moved so he was inside her. She gasped at the feeling of him filling her. Matthew was kissing her, kissing every inch of her body that he could reach, and she thought that nothing had ever felt so good.

Somehow, her body knew what to do, and she moved rhythmically. She knew he wouldn't be able to move against her, but still he seemed to be staying hard inside her. In the months since her marriage, she had felt more pleasure than she had imagined it was even possible to feel. But now, this was even more exquisite. He seemed to fit so perfectly inside her, and it felt so right, she wished it would never stop.

It didn't last forever, though. Mary could feel his hardness going, but not before she had reached her climax and cried out in the joy and perfection of that moment. She rolled off him and lay flat on her back next to him, hardly able to believe what had just happened.

Now, after they had done it, she could finally admit to herself that she had been nervous, scared even. The memory of her only previous experience of this was still, after all these years, fresh in her mind, and she had been worried that somehow it would poison her lovemaking with her husband.

But having Matthew inside her could hardly have been more different than Kemal. There had been a few seconds discomfort, but nothing like the pain she remembered from before. Then, it had been an intrusion; Kemal had forced himself inside her mind and her body, and there had been nothing she could do about it. Having Matthew inside her had made her feel complete, full, perfect, but most importantly, she had been in control this time: she had _wanted_ this, had chosen to be with the man she loved. She had felt such joy and power, so different from the terror of having Kemal's unfamiliar and unmovable weight above her, trapping her. She realised suddenly that the memories had lost their power over her; they had been replaced by new ones which were so much more powerful. If she ever heard Sybil describing intimacy with a man again (which seemed unlikely, but that was irrelevant), it would not be Kemal Pamuk who would haunt her thoughts, but Matthew. She sighed happily.

Matthew was unable to speak for the elation he felt. How many times had he been told it was impossible? How many tears had he shed over the fact that he could never be a proper husband to Mary? And yet, they had done it. He had seen how wonderful it had been for her, and the thought made him smile and feel a certain pride. That joy, that excitement that he had seen in her face, he had caused it.

And children. Yes, he could now allow himself to contemplate being a father, and making Mary a mother. Except…

"I didn't… finish, did I," he said slowly.

Mary looked away. "I don't… I don't think so. But I don't really know what it's like. I don't… have experience."

"You'd know," Matthew said in a voice that had lost some of its elation.

"Perhaps," Mary said slowly, "next time…?"

"Perhaps."

"One step at a time, darling. Don't forget how wonderful what we have just done was. And don't tell me we're not going to enjoy… experimenting," Mary said playfully.

Matthew smiled again. Yes, they would experiment, and who knew what would happen? Until a few weeks ago, what they had just done had seemed impossible, and now… and there would be a next time, so there was hope. There was certainly more hope than there had been an hour ago.

They lay there together in contented silence, reliving in their minds what had just happened.

"I love you, Matthew," Mary whispered as she felt herself begin to drift off to sleep.

"As I love you. Oh Mary, you have no idea how good it feels to know that I can be a proper husband to you. I never thought it would be possible," he said, feeling his eyes getting hot with tears.

Mary, suddenly awake again, sat up and said firmly, "Darling, you have been a proper husband to me since the day we married. What just happened was wonderful, but it has not made me love you any more than before, because that would be impossible, and it has not made our marriage any more 'proper' either, because that would be impossible too." She leaned down and kissed him again.

Matthew kissed her back tenderly. Whatever she said, their marriage was different now. He might not have been able to feel it, but Mary had, and he had seen how much she had enjoyed it. And he had felt such joy and excitement… And the fact that there was some hope, however small, of children… he doubted any Christmas had ever been happier.


	27. Chapter 27

Between Christmas and New Year, Robert spoke of nothing but the shoot and thought of nothing but Bates and the upcoming trial.

Lord Hepworth, Rosamund's 'friend', or rather, suitor, arrived on New Years' Eve and did not make much of a secret of the fact that he was pursuing Rosamund. Although he did make polite and charming conversation with the whole family, talking with Robert about shooting, and making himself generally agreeable, he was flirting outrageously with Rosamund.

Isobel, Violet, Edith and Anthony were staying the night on New Years' Eve, since it would be very late when they would be ready to go home, and the entire family assembled in the drawing room before midnight, waiting for the New Year and the new decade.

A few minutes before midnight, the glasses were handed out and filled with champagne. Sybil looked jealously at everyone else, wondering if it would be alright to have even a taste of champagne despite her pregnancy.

"Go on darling, have a sip," Cora whispered. "I had a little when I was pregnant with all three of you, and you've all turned out alright." But Sybil was a nurse, and she knew that doctors did not give advice without some reason, so she refused and filled her glass with lemonade.

The clock on the mantelpiece whirred and the first chime of midnight rang out.

"Happy New Year," Robert said cheerfully holding up his glass, and the others followed suit. Then he kissed Cora on the cheek.

Mary leaned down to kiss Matthew, then her sisters and parents and everyone else.

"Happy New Year, Mama," Robert said to Violet, who was standing with Rosamund.

"Nineteen Twenty!" she replied with wonder. "Is it to be believed? I feel as old as Methuselah!"

"But so much prettier," Robert told her, smiling.

"When I think what the last ten years has brought, God knows what we're in for now," Violet said, frowning a little and shaking her head.

Robert couldn't believe the changes the last decade had brought either. He had lost two heirs, but gained another whom he loved as a son. They had lived through a war, and had their home opened up to hundreds of injured strangers. Lloyd George seemed determined to change the country even more drastically. And his three daughters were all happily married, although not one of his sons-in-law were what he expected; he had not expected a solicitor, a chauffeur and a man older than he was himself. But he looked at all of his daughters and saw that all three of them were happy.

A decade ago, Sybil had been a child. Now she was a married woman expecting her first child and living in another country. Edith, whom he had thought would end up a spinster, seemed to be content with Sir Anthony, regardless of his age. And Mary had done what he had never expected her to do and married for love. It was true she had married the heir, and would inherit Downton on his death, like she would have done if she had married Patrick. But when Robert looked at Mary and Matthew together, he could hardly believe that he had encouraged her and Patrick to marry, hardly giving them a chance to meet anyone else, when it was so clear that they had not loved each other. How was it that he had not recognised that Mary deserved this, and nothing less?

* * *

"Why don't you have a loader?" Mary asked as she watched Matthew loading his own gun slowly. "Barnard would have found you one, and Papa thinks you've lost your mind, missing half the fun loading your gun."

"I'm not very good at it," Matthew replied, making Mary smile. "I don't want a witness."

"I'm a witness," Mary reminded him.

"You're my wife. I hope I can trust you not to spread the word of my incompetence."

Mary laughed and put her hands over her ears as Matthew fired again. He missed, and she laughed again at his disappointed sigh.

"I never know which is worse: the sorrow when you hit the bird or the shame when you miss it," she said. "It's a shame Anthony can't shoot anymore. He used to be so keen before. He was an excellent shot, I remember. And he didn't feel sorry for it."

"Would you rather be standing by the Anthony of the past then, rather than me? To have the distinction of being the Lady who stood with the best shot? Because somehow, I don't think you'll get that with me. How many have I hit so far? You said you'd keep count."

"One. But you've spent half the time loading your gun, so we can assume that you would have shot twice that number with a loader. So let's call it two. And you know perfectly well I wouldn't swap you for the world. Anthony might have shot a thousand pheasants, and I would still have been bored stiff with his company. He and Edith suit."

"Mary," Matthew reproached her.

"Sorry. But it's Edith, darling. You know what we're like. And even you have to admit you used to think her a bore, even if you don't still."

Matthew was about to protest, but remembered how he had hardly noticed Edith when he had first arrived, and had always wished he was with her elder sister when he was in her company.

"Perhaps. But only because I couldn't help comparing her to you. And you're right, Edith and Anthony do suit," he admitted.

Then he stopped talking, lifted his gun, and pulled the trigger. Mary put her hands over her ears again.

"I think I might have got that one," Matthew said excitedly.

"Let's call that a grand total of four then. And you probably spent quite a long time talking to me, so let's call it six," Mary said.

"Robert will never believe that. We've been out three times in the last couple of months, and I doubt I've shot six in all those expeditions put together."

"He won't say anything. He wants to show you off, remember."

"I wonder how Tom's getting on," Matthew asked suddenly. He knew Tom had consented to join the shoot because he had been persuaded by Cora that it might make Robert look more favourably on him.

"Hoping there's someone doing even worse than you, are you darling?" Mary asked sweetly. Then she said more seriously, "I do hope he's not having too bad a time, especially with Sybil going on about how cruel it is. She gave us another lecture on it last night, while you were still in the dining room. Perhaps she should stand with you for the next drive, since you seem to share her views."

"Well you must admit it seemed rather unfair to raise animals just to kill them. But much as I love your sister, I think I would go home now if it weren't for your company, so no, I won't be asking for her company for the next drive."

"Are you up for the next drive?" Mary asked quietly.

"Of course I am," he replied irritably. "Anyway, how do you think it would look if I went home now? Pathetic. Besides, I'm fine."

"Nobody would think any less of you," Mary said gently.

"They wouldn't think any less of me because they already expect me to behave like an invalid. I'd rather not confirm their expectations. And honestly, I am fine. In fact, I expect I feel rather better than some people who were clearly up drinking rather too much champagne rather late last night."

This made Mary laugh, despite her attempt to be serious, because she could see that it really was true; after the late night last night, there had been several of the guests who looked as if they had sore heads that morning. And Matthew really did look fine.

A few hundred feet away, Tom was not enjoying himself very much. He had helped to shoot rabbits on a cousin's farm when he was young, so could handle a gun well enough to take part in the shoot. But that had been a long time ago and it was not the same shooting something that was flying.

"If only they didn't fly so fast," he complained, as he missed for what seemed like the hundredth time.

"Well I'm glad they do, poor things," Sybil said. "At least that way they have a chance of escaping being murdered."

"Sybil, you didn't disagree with your mother when she persuaded me to try this, and you keep telling me to make an effort with your family. Now I'm making an effort and you're complaining. And anyway, considering how bad I am at this, I wouldn't worry too much about the safety of the pheasants."

"How is it that Papa and his friends actually enjoy this?" Sybil wondered. "The noise is awful, and I don't see the pleasure in killing innocent birds."

"Well I don't know why you're asking me; this is your world, and to be honest, to me, this is one of the least mad things your family and their kind do. But yes, I agree, it does seem rather unfair on the poor birds."

"Thank you for making the effort though, Tom," Sybil said gently. "I may not agree with this, but I'm so glad you're trying to make it easier for yourself. Truly I am. I want you to be part of the family, especially when our baby is born; I want him or her to feel proud of being part of both worlds, not ashamed that he or she doesn't fit into either."

The horn sounded to signal the end of the first drive. Tom went over and kissed Sybil, resting his hand on her stomach for a second.

"I will do my best to ensure that our baby never has to feel ashamed of anything," he said softly when he drew away.

"You are going to be such a good father."

"And you will be a perfect mother."

* * *

"How did you do?" Matthew asked Tom at the shooting lunch afterwards. Tom merely grimaced, and Matthew looked at him sympathetically.

"Well, if it's any comfort, I probably did worse," he said.

"How many did you get?" Tom asked.

"Do you mean how many I'm telling people I got, or the truth?" Matthew said.

"Both," Tom replied with a smirk.

"Six and three," Matthew said. "Mary assures me that I spent half my time loading my own gun, so she suggested we double it."

"Two, or I suppose four by Mary's measure, as I didn't have a loader either." Tom said. "I'm lucky I got that many. One I only got because I was aiming for the one next to it."

This caused Matthew, Mary and Sybil to burst out laughing.

A little further down the table, Robert and Isobel were having a rather more serious conversation.

"Robert?" Isobel asked, "Matthew and Mary are going to York for Bates' trial. And, erm, I wondered if I might come as well."

Robert looked at her seriously.

"Well, of course. If you want to."

"Cora's told me she's not going, and I just thought I might be useful as part of the bucking up brigade."

"That's kind. Thank you."

Isobel looked around at the family and guests eating and drinking and having a good time, and could hardly believe this was real.

"It's odd, isn't it," she said, and Robert looked up. "Us just chatting away here, while that poor man waits to hear his fate."

"Please don't make me feel any worse than I do already," Robert said wearily. He was hardly managing to get through the festive season as a cheerful and genial host as it was, without being reminded and made to feel guilty when he was actually enjoying himself. He turned away from Isobel and stared vacantly into the distance. Somewhere, his old friend and comrade, who had saved his life more than once, was sitting in a prison cell. That seemed like part of a different world. This, this entertainment and sport and laughter, seemed so unimportant, so trivial.

And Robert again felt the sensation of drowning in change and newness, because he had never before seen anything about his way of life as trivial and unimportant. He had sworn not to be changed by the war, but somehow, somewhere in the last few years, he had changed, and it frightened him.

"I've never met this Bates everyone is talking about," Sir Anthony said to Edith after hearing snatches of Robert and Isobel's conversation. He and Edith had come down from the house for the lunch with Isobel, Cora and all the other ladies who hadn't gone out for the shoot, and Anthony felt rather out of place, sitting at lunch with all the men who had spent the morning shooting, while he had sat in the morning room with the Ladies.

"He fought in the Boer War with Papa. He was his batman," Edith informed him.

"Very heroic."

"But I don't really know him any more than any of the other servants, except that he is married to Anna, who used to dress Mary, Sybil and me. But everyone seems very sure he is innocent, and I can't see Anna married to a murderer. Papa's terribly upset about it."

There was a few seconds silence.

"You don't mind that you missed the shoot, do you?" Anthony asked suddenly, finally voicing the question that had been on his mind all day. "Everyone else was out, but you had to stay at the house and mind your crippled old codger of a husband."

"Oh, Anthony, I wish you wouldn't talk about yourself so. If you must know, I was glad not to have to go. I hate the noise, and I don't see the fun in killing innocent birds. Besides, most of the Ladies didn't go out anyway."

"I can see why you might not enjoy it so much. But before this," he said, gesturing to his arm, "the shooting season was the highlight of my year."

Edith looked at her husband sympathetically and didn't know what to say to make him feel better, so she reached out and placed her hand on his leg under the table and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"I'm sorry, my sweet one. I shouldn't be so miserable. I enjoyed the morning in your company, like I enjoy every moment in your company. Shall we go home early, as soon as luncheon is finished? I want you all to myself," Anthony said, and Edith eagerly nodded her assent.

* * *

The guests spent the afternoon amusing themselves with cards and billiards and gossip.

Mary and Matthew excused themselves from this, and went to their rooms so Matthew could bathe and rest. He may be much stronger than he used to be, but hours of holding up a gun, sitting in the same position, and being pushed over the uneven ground, however careful William was, had tired him out and his shoulders and back were aching.

They lay together on their bed after sharing a bath, the curtains drawn. Matthew was lying on his front with hot water bottles on his back, and was missing being able to hold Mary in his arms properly. But still, it was relaxing and pleasant to lie with her alone in the middle of the day.

"Anna's very grateful you're coming with us," Mary said after a long period of comfortable and restful silence.

"I'm glad. I hope I can be of use. I don't know an awful lot about criminal law, but at least I'll be able to explain what's going on. Are Edith and Sybil coming?"

"Sybil and Tom have to go home in a couple of days. They have to get back to work. I keep forgetting what a different life they lead."

"And Edith?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Why not?" Matthew asked, puzzled. He knew Anna had been Edith's maid as well as Mary's until Mary's marriage, and had assumed Edith would want to be there to support Anna every bit as much as Mary.

"When I told Mama and Edith I was going, they both asked why I was going, rather than me asking why they weren't. I don't suppose it crossed their minds to go."

"Mother's going," Matthew said.

"Is she? But she hardly knows Bates and Anna. Although I suppose it will be good to have as many of us there was possible."

"You know Mother has never been one to stay at home and do nothing, and she just doesn't believe an innocent man could possibly be condemned to die."

"Neither do any of us," Mary said sadly. "But we're all going to have to accept that it's one possible outcome. It's gone this far, and there must have been innocent men hung before."

"That is true, but I do think we're in with a chance. I have great faith in Murray; he will have found the best barrister there is, with Robert paying. We mustn't lose hope," Matthew assured her.

"No. You're right. We must have faith in justice, I suppose."

"What time is it?" she asked suddenly. Matthew checked his wristwatch, his Christmas present from Mary.

"An hour until it's time to dress," he replied.

"Are you up for dinner?" Mary asked, knowing what the answer would be and knowing that Matthew would tell her off for fussing.

"Don't fuss, Mary. I feel much better after lying down. I'm not going to miss dinner."

"How's your back?"

Matthew stretched carefully and rolled his shoulders slightly before answering. "Not too bad, actually. Although it might not be so good when I'm sitting up. But you mustn't worry, darling. The hot water bottles are helping."

"We can retire early," Mary said softly.

"Hmmm. I like the sound of 'we'," Matthew said, and Mary saw that his eyes were dark with desire. This made her breath catch and her heart beat slightly faster, but she controlled herself; later, they could make love, but for now, Matthew needed to rest.

"Do you ever think of anything else, darling?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Have you any idea how hard it is to think of anything else when you're here in bed with me?" Matthew asked, reaching out for her hand. He found it and squeezed gently.

"Some idea," she said airily, as if she didn't feel the same about him.

They lay in silence for a few minutes.

"It seems like rather a long time to wait until this evening," Matthew said slowly.

"Yes, it does rather," Mary agreed, a smile spreading across her face.

"Perhaps we should make the most of this hour then."

"Perhaps."

"You couldn't get rid of these hot water bottles, could you? I fear they might get in the way of what I have in mind for the next hour."

"Certainly. If you're sure you're up to it."

"I'm sure."

Mary sat up and threw the hot water bottles onto the floor, then helped Matthew turn onto his back.

"An hour is a long time," she said seductively.

"Not long enough," Matthew breathed, reaching up to brush a stand of hair back from Mary's face. Did she have any idea how beautiful she looked, looking down at him like that with her hair dishevelled and her perfect rosebud lips parted in a way that seemed to be begging to be kissed?

"You have great faith in yourself then, thinking you can keep me occupied for a whole hour."

"Well, if you let me, I shall prove that my faith in myself is entirely justified," Matthew said, pulling Mary down for a kiss.

Matthew was right; an hour was not long enough, and if it hadn't been for Anna's knock, they would have missed dinner altogether.


	28. Chapter 28

With the distraction of New Year out of the way, Bates' trial loomed closer than it had seemed to before. Murray came up to talk to all the servants who would be called to give evidence in the trial, and to Robert. He seemed confident, but as Matthew said to Mary when they were alone, it was difficult to know how such a trial would go until it began.

Sybil was reluctant to leave and go back to Ireland, but unlike the rest of the family, she and Tom had to work for their living. They were lucky to have had such a long holiday over Christmas and New Year.

Rosamund stayed at Downton, and although she expressed her sympathy for Bates and said she hoped it all turned out alright, she was actually almost enjoying the excitement and anticipation of the trial and the drama of a man being wrongly accused of murder. It was like the things she read about in books and in the newspapers. Lord Hepworth left, but would be back for the servants' ball, if there was one. Rosamund delighted in having him at her back and call. She was under no illusions. She was no young naïve girl. She knew perfectly well that he wanted her money. But she was also so certain that he really was attracted to her for other reasons. They did enjoy each other's company so much, and surely he didn't like being alone any more than she did. She enjoyed her freedom, and being a rich widow could be great fun. But sometimes she did long for company and love, especially when she came to Downton and saw Robert and Cora together, and all the girls with their husbands.

The day of the trial, all those who were attending were up at dawn, to catch the first train. Mary and Matthew went in the car; Matthew hadn't tried travelling by train yet, and today didn't seem like the right day to try for the first time. William rode in the front, and Anna came in the back with them; Mary had not wanted her to have to face the crowded Third Class carriages on the train. It made Anna sad that the only time she had ever sat in the back with Mary before was on the day of her wedding, but she was grateful for the comfort and calm of the car.

On the journey, Matthew gently explained how the trial would work. Anna tried her best to listen and understand, but her thoughts kept drifting from what he was saying to images of John hanging from a noose. Mary held her hand and did her best to comfort her, but really, there was nothing she could do to make this awful day more bearable for Anna.

They had made vague plans to meet Robert, Isobel, Mrs Hughes and O'Brien at the courthouse and go and find the public gallery together, but this seemed rather optimistic when they saw the crowds of people there. They had arrived early, but the upcoming trial had been in the newspapers; it interested people when an Earl's valet was on trial for murder.

"I think we'd better just go in and sit down," Mary said.

Matthew looked out at the crowds and grimaced. He did not relish the thought of being carried around in front of all these people, but he knew he had little choice. And as Mary had reminded him, it was much less of an ordeal than Bates had been through in his months in prison, and than Anna would have to go through today.

Mary kissed his cheek.

"Ignore them, darling. You'll never have to see any of them again. And you have nothing to be ashamed of or embarrassed about. I'll be right next to you," she said reassuringly.

Matthew nodded. What on earth would he do without Mary? Everything was made bearable by her presence.

William and the chauffeur unstrapped Matthew's wheelchair from the back of the car and William brought it around to the side, and helped Matthew into it. There were only a few shallow steps up to the door, so William got Matthew up them without him having to be carried.

They went into the large, imposing grey building and Anna felt herself trembling with fear. In here, today, hers and John's futures would be decided by twelve strangers who could never know how a good and brave a man John was. They would listen to the deceptive and clever speeches of the lawyers, then decide John's fate, and go home to their families as if it were an ordinary day. The building, especially the doorway and entrance hall seemed designed to frighten and subdue all those who weren't used to it.

Officious looking clerks and lawyers marched around, self-confident and seemingly pleased with the impression of importance they created with their gowns and wigs and briefcases. Matthew was used to such places and such people, and hardly noticed. Mary was too busy trying to reassure Anna to take much notice of it all herself. But Anna and William were rather overawed. They felt lost and out of place. Everyone else seemed to know where they were going, but they felt disorientated in the large hall in the middle of all the people.

Thankfully, Matthew knew where they were going, and directing the others gave him something to think about other than the stairs he knew he would have to be carried up to reach the public gallery. They went down a wide corridor that was slightly less busy than the hall had been, but still rather crowded. They reached the bottom of a flight of stairs, and Matthew grimaced again.

"We've got to go up here. And there's more steps inside to get to the benches I think, although I've never actually been in the public gallery," he said. "How is this going to work then?"

"Anna and I can carry the chair between us, and William, you can manage, can't you?" Mary said.

"Yes, Mi' Lady," William answered. He was used to lifting Matthew and was confident that he was strong enough to carry him up the stairs.

Matthew frowned and set his jaw. He didn't like the idea of Mary carrying his chair like a servant, but there was little choice and besides, it was useless to argue with Mary when she was in this mood, telling people what to do and expecting to be obeyed. William leaned down and Matthew put his arms around him.

"Are you sure you can manage?" Matthew asked.

"Yes, sir. Are you ready?"

"Yes," Matthew replied wearily, and William picked him up with very little difficulty. Mary and Anna picked up the empty chair, which was surprisingly heavy and unwieldy and carried it up the stairs ahead of William, struggling past the other people going up and down the stairs. They set it down at the top, and William reached the top and set Matthew down in it, looking rather red in the face from the exertion. Matthew was rather red too, but from self-consciousness. There were some people who were staring unashamedly, some who were looking with expressions of pity, and others who seemed to be deliberately averting their eyes.

Mary went behind Matthew's chair when he was settled in it and kissed the top of his head before pushing him down the next corridor. There were now signs saying 'Public Gallery, and everyone seemed to be following them in the same direction. It made Anna sick to see the excited and eager expressions on their faces. How could they relish the opportunity to see a man condemned to death, because she knew that was the verdict they would all be hoping for? Crowds liked a good hanging, liked there to be a villain they could hate and shout abuse at.

They found the door that led to the benches they would be sitting on, and Mary went to see if the others had arrived. She looked around and saw nobody she knew, and saw that most of the spaces were occupied, despite their early arrival.

"Mary! Over here!"

Mary started, then turned to see Isobel standing and waving to her. They had saved a whole row, at the front. Mary waved to show she had seen them, then went back out to get the others.

The door was at the top of the gallery, at the back, and there were more stairs down to the front row. But the seats Robert had saved were the only ones free, so William had to carry Matthew down and leave the wheelchair outside the door.

Robert's heart clenched as he saw Matthew's shame and embarrassment at being carried. He hadn't thought about this when he had chosen to sit near the front. They had arrived in plenty of time and very few people wanted to sit at the back, so they could have sat there if only he had thought about it properly. But it was too late now, and anyway, William had set Matthew down on the bench now. Matthew looked as if he wanted to disappear, but Mary engaged him in conversation as soon as she sat down herself, and soon Matthew was looking more relaxed.

"Where are Mrs Hughes and O'Brien?" Mary asked her father.

"They've already gone to wait to be called as witnesses. They've been called as witnesses for the prosecution, though God knows why, and apparently, the prosecution go first. I won't have to go until later," Robert replied.

They still had a while to wait before the trial began. Anna sat silently, her face white with dread. Everyone left her alone, not knowing what to say to her. Isobel kept up a steady stream of positive and cheerful conversation, which felt so wrong with the dread and fear they all felt, Matthew quietly told her to stop. But when she stopped talking, it was worse, because now there was nothing to distract them from their thoughts. Robert began to talk about the lawyers, and how he had paid for the best he could find and how he was sure they would win the case for him.

Matthew sat with his arm protectively around Mary. He knew she was as worried as anyone, but had been hiding her emotions as she always did. He knew she had been being particularly bright and positive earlier to try and make it easier for him, and that she was trying to be strong for Anna. He loved her for it, but he knew it tired her out, this acting she did at times like this. She was so strong, but even so, it cost her a lot to remain so composed.

Anna was glad when the trial itself started. She couldn't bear the waiting any longer. And when John was brought out into the box where he was to sit for the duration of the trial, her heart leapt, for she was glad to see him under any circumstances after so many months of infrequent short visits. He looked around as soon as he was in the room, and the ghost of a smile brushed his lips when he saw her. Her heart felt as if it were being torn apart with love for him, and pain when she thought about what might happen today.

When he had said all the necessary things, confirming his name and saying that he was pleading 'not guilty', he looked straight across the room and mouthed, 'I love you,' to Anna. She felt her eyes go hot with tears, and looked back at him and mouthed, 'I love you,' back to him through the tears.

O'Brien was the first to give evidence, and while she was speaking and being asked questions, Anna clenched her fists in anger. What O'Brien was telling the court made John seem like a violent murderer and Anna could not believe that even Sarah O'Brien could say such things. She had disliked her long before today, but now her dislike rose to hatred, and she could hardly bear to look at her. She kept her eyes on John, feasting on him like someone who was starving. She didn't know how much longer she would have to look at her beloved John, so she had to make the most of every minute.

Next was Mrs Hughes. She looked nervous, even terrified. She clearly hated to be there, and would have done anything not to have to answer the questions put to her. She cursed herself for eavesdropping that day. She had never done so before, had disapproved of and disliked those who made a habit of it. And the one time she had been too weak to stop herself, she had heard something that could damage Bates' chances of release.

She could almost not bring herself to say the word 'bitch'. Not only was it damaging to Bates' case, but it was not a word she would dream of saying herself, and certainly not in front of a room full of people, including Ladies and a few children. But she had no choice. She could not lie under oath, not even to save a man she admired and respected as much as John Bates. When she said the word, a wave of whispering and gasps went around the court, and she saw how much damage that one word had done. She couldn't even bear to look at Anna.

Anna could hardly believe she was hearing kind, fair Mrs Hughes say things that condemned John. How could she stand up there, knowing what was at stake, and still say those things?

When the court broke up for lunch, Anna blew a kiss to John before he was taken away, then stood up wearily to leave the room with the rest of the people observing from the public gallery.

They stood outside the courtroom, where they were joined by Murray. He saw their worried expressions, and reassured them,

"Every case looks as black as night when the prosecution has finished. We've heard nothing in Bates' defence yet." This statement was greeted by silence.

Matthew knew there was truth in what he said, but even so, he couldn't think what the defence could possibly say to contradict the overwhelming circumstantial evidence against Bates. He had been watching the jury, and it seemed many of them had already made up their minds to hate Bates.

Anna shook her head.

"I can't believe Mrs Hughes would say those things. Miss O'Brien, maybe, but not Mrs Hughes."

"It's difficult to lie on oath. Few of us can manage it," Isobel put in gently.

"She looked as though she were in hell," Mary said sympathetically, remembering the way Mrs Hughes' face had contorted as if she were fighting internally with herself.

"It does sound worse than I expected," Robert said worriedly to Murray.

"It's a great pity he didn't speak out about buying the poison," Matthew said, after thinking over the case while the others were talking. The fact that Bates had kept quiet about it made it seem to a stranger that he was trying to hide something, even if it made perfect sense to anyone who knew him.

"I told him to," Anna said, shaking her head again. "I begged him to." She remembered that evening when they had stood in the corridor downstairs, talking quietly so as not to be overheard, and she had implored him not to keep quiet about the rat poison. There was nothing unusual about buying rat poison; nobody would have thought twice about it if only he had mentioned it.

"And he should have listened." Murray's voice sounded stern, and not at all reassuring.

"Then it's down to me to convince them that this crime in simply not in Bates' character," Robert said. He sounded confident, but everyone knew that however much weight the word of an Earl carried, it was hardly enough to form the basis of a defence in court.

Robert and Murray went to find some food for lunch, but the others couldn't contemplate eating anything at that time. They found some chairs at the edge of one of the many halls around the courtroom and sat down in silence. They had come to court that morning expecting it to be bad, but this was worse than they had imagined. From the way the case had been presented, they thought that if they didn't already know Bates, they would probably be certain of his guilt.

"I know it's hard, Anna, but don't hold it against them," Mary said quietly. Anna shook her head and looked away.

"I know. I know they said what they had to. But… surely they could have left out… certain words?"

"They had to swear to speak 'the whole truth'," Matthew said gravely. Anna looked at him.

"Thank you, sir, for being here to explain everything. It would be awful not to at least have some idea what was going on and what to expect," she said earnestly to him. Matthew had been whispering explanations throughout the trial so far, and it had been so reassuring to know what was going on.

"You're welcome. It is the least I can do, after all you and Bates have done for Mary and me," Matthew replied.

"Tell me honestly," Anna asked him, "how much of a chance do you think he has?"

Matthew struggled with himself before answering. He didn't want to alarm Anna any more than necessary. But at the same time, he had to be honest with her.

"Less of a chance than I thought he would have this morning. Murray is right that it always sounds hopeless before the defence has spoken. But I think they are putting too much faith in Lord Grantham's word. Perhaps in the past, the word of a peer would be enough. But this is not the past. The world is changing, and a title carries less weight than it used to."

"And so it should…" Isobel began, but Matthew shook his head.

"Not now, Mother. I do agree with you in principle, but now, it is all we have, and you had better hope that the jury are not your sort of people."

"But why must we rely on Lord Grantham's word, when John is innocent? Why is that all we have, when the police ought to be the ones with nothing to go on?" Anna asked angrily.

"It might not be right, but that is how it is. All we can do is hope for the best, hope that the jury are sensible enough people to realise that there is no real evidence," Matthew said.

"There's no evidence because he didn't do it!" Anna cried.

"We know that," Mary said gently, "but the jury don't."

There was nothing else anyone could say. They sat in silence for a few minutes, until Matthew looked at his watch and sighed.

"We'd better go back in, or someone will have taken our seats."

They all stood up slowly, reluctant to return to the oppressive atmosphere of the courtroom.

* * *

Everyone's spirits lifted as Robert spoke of Bates' bravery in the war. The jury seemed to look at Bates in a new light and they felt hopeful again. Matthew thought of William and looked down the bench at him and nodded. William saw and blushed a little. He had saved Matthew's life, but Matthew had saved his on numerous occasions previously. He had only done what he knew Matthew would have done for him. It made him uncomfortable to be called a hero, when there were so many braver men who had fought in the war and gained no recognition for it.

But when Robert was questioned by the barrister for the prosecution, the lifted spirits fell again. He couldn't remember specific conversations, was unsure of details and hesitated before answering some questions. This made the jury see him as a less reliable witness, despite the fact that he was the Earl of Grantham, and since much of the defence seemed to be built on his word, it did not look good.

Mary felt like crying as she watched her father hate himself for telling the truth and saying things that made Bates look bad. She wished he had listened more carefully to Murray's advice. But he had been so sure of himself, so certain that he could convince the jury of Bates' innocence without help, he had waved Murray's advice aside. She was glad of Matthew's arm around her, giving her the strength to comfort Anna as best she could and remain sitting straight and dignified.

After Robert had been questioned, both the sides concluded their cases, and the jury went out to decide on their verdict. Isobel went out of the courtroom to speak to Mrs Hughes and O'Brien. William went out to stretch his legs and get away from the fear and depression in the room, after being assured several times that Matthew didn't need him. Anna stayed because she was shaking so much, she wasn't sure she would be able to stand.

Robert came to sit with them, and had a conversation in low voices with Matthew about the chance they had. Mary hugged Anna, not caring that it was in a public place and that she was embracing her maid. She was simply doing her best to comfort her friend.

The jury came back in with their verdict frighteningly quickly. Robert looked at Matthew.

"Is this good or bad?" he asked worriedly. Matthew shrugged, although he suspected it was bad. They would find out soon enough anyway.

"Do you think someone ought to find the others?" he asked. But as he spoke, he saw his mother walking down the steps toward them, followed by Mrs Hughes, O'Brien, William and Murray. They sat down hurriedly.

"Are you all agreed?" the judge asked the jury spokesperson.

"We are, My Lord."

"The prisoner will stand," the judge commanded. Bates pulled himself to his feet.

"Do you find the prisoner to be guilty, or not guilty, as charged?"

Anna's heart pounded in her chest, and she felt as if her corset was crushing her. Her lower lip trembled, and she prayed fervently inside her head for God to save John.

"Guilty," the spokesman said clearly. Anna cried out in horror and disbelief, and began to sob loudly. The others stared in amazement. They had known that this was a possible outcome of the day, but it had not seemed real until now. Robert felt as if the ground beneath him had disappeared, and he was falling down into a bottomless abyss. John Bates, the man who had saved his life, who had fought alongside him, who had been his friend, who had lived in his house since 1912, was to be sentenced to death. How could this be real?

But it was real, too real, for the judge was gravely putting on his black hat.

"John Bates," he said. "You have been found guilty of the charge of wilful murder. You will be taken from here to a place of execution, where you will be hanged by the neck until you are dead. And may God have mercy upon your soul."

Anna stood and cried,

"No! No, his is wrong! This is terribly, terribly wrong!"

Mary stood up to support her, as the judge said,

"Take him down."

Bates was dragged away by the prison officers who had been sitting behind him, crying Anna's name despairingly.

* * *

Mrs Hughes, O'Brien and Isobel went back on the train straight after the trial. There would be enough space for the others to go in the car.

They went to a nearby inn to talk over what would happen next. They could appeal, Murray said. But he didn't sound hopeful.

Anna felt as if her life was over, as if she would never be happy again. She had refused to prepare herself for this, thinking ridiculously that preparing for it would make it more likely to happen. But now it had happened, and she wanted to die, so she would never have to face the world without John. Murray and Matthew explained how an appeal would work, and she tried to understand and muster some hope. But she had had so much hope before today, and had been so utterly crushed when the worst happened, she couldn't bear to hope again.

Nobody spoke on the long journey back to Downton. There was nothing to say. Everyone was incredibly weary and depressed.

When they arrived home, they were glad to have a hot dinner waiting for them. They had thought they would never be able to eat after the day's events, but having missed lunch and having had a long and horrible day, there was nothing that could have been more welcome than a hot roast dinner.

Mary sent Anna to bed, saying she could sort herself out for the night, and after dinner, she and Matthew went to bed too. They were exhausted and drained, and there was nothing to stay up for anyway.

They lay in bed together, unable to think of anything to say. It still felt faintly unreal, but they knew that it was real, that an innocent man was condemned to die, and that there was nothing they could do about it. They knew there was the possibility of the appeal being successful, but it was a remote one.

Robert sat up alone, and blamed himself for the verdict. Part of him knew there was not much he could have done, so well had the prosecution built their case. But he could not forgive himself for what he had said. Why could he not have left it at 'I wish she was the former'? Why on earth had he added 'Or better still, the late'? It seemed like such an easy thing to do now, to leave out a few words.

But in the courtroom, with the judge in his red gown sitting high above everyone like some sort of God, it had been impossible not to tell the whole truth. It had been like being under some sort of spell. He cursed himself for not being stronger and cleverer. It was one thing for two female servants to have been intimidated by the formality and gravity of the court, and he would never hold it against them. But he was the Earl of Grantham. He ought to have been stronger. Now his old friend and comrade was to be hanged, and it was partly his fault.

He had very little confidence in the success of an appeal after seeing Murray's expression as he discussed it.

He sat in the library late into the night, unable to face Cora and explain what had happened, and wishing he didn't have to face himself and his conscience and guilt.


	29. Chapter 29

_**I'm going on holiday (without my laptop) for a couple of weeks, so it may be a while before the next chapter is ready, so I've worked hard to finish this one early.**_

 _ **As always, thank you for reviews/follows/favourites, they mean a lot.**_

 _ **I hope you enjoy this chapter, and I'll get the next one finished as soon as I can.**_

The atmosphere in the house was subdued and depressing in the weeks following the trial. Anna went about her duties with red eyes, and Mary could think of nothing she could say to comfort her. There was still the possibility of a reprieve, but it was not likely, and it was almost worse to have the glimmer of hope than it would have been to know. It was the hope that hurt the most.

One morning, Anna came in with Mary's letters soon after she'd brought her breakfast, and Mary noticed that she had been crying again.

"Anna?" she said gently, and the kindness with which she said it made Anna burst into tears, sobbing violently. She had been holding in her grief, but couldn't do it any longer. Mary held Anna in her arms like a crying child.

"Don't lose hope yet, Anna. The letter has been written to the Home Secretary. He may still be reprieved," she said.

Anna swallowed her sobs and breathed deeply in an attempt to calm down enough to speak.

"But if it does… go badly for us, I must leave."

"What?" Mary asked, alarmed.

"I can't stay here. I can't let this be the house that harbours the wife of a convicted murderer. I must go somewhere where nobody knows me. And I have been so happy here with John, I couldn't bear to live here with him… gone," Anna said through her crying.

"But where would you go?" Mary asked, unable to imagine Anna leaving.

"I'm not sure. Maybe to a friend of my mother's, in Derbyshire. She takes in laundry. I could help her. She always said, after my mother died, that I could go to her if ever I needed somewhere to live and honest work. It would be hard, and different from what I'm used to. And I would miss you. But it would be for the best."

"No, Anna. Nobody here would object to your staying. And I would hate to lose you. You are my only friend here."

"I would be sorry to leave you. But whatever you say, this house would become notorious for harbouring me. No, it would not be right for me to stay. And I wouldn't mind working as a washerwoman, if that is going to be your next objection. Nothing that will ever happen to me could be worse than losing John. If… if the worst happens, I won't care whether I live or die, never mind what work I do," Anna said sadly.

"But you do not know that it will happen yet. And I won't let you go so easily," Mary said certainly.

Anna nodded, but looked unconvinced. She handed Mary her letters and left to give Mary peace and privacy to read them. There was one from Sybil, which she opened first. Sybil wrote that she wished she could have been there for the trial, asked Mary to give Anna her love and Tom's. She also described the sensation of having her bay move inside her, writing that it felt like bubbles popping inside her, 'like champagne, which makes up for the fact I can't drink champagne at the moment'. Mary smiled to herself.

Then there was another letter, addressed in a familiar hand, although Mary did not immediately recognise it. She frowned a little and looked at the sender's address. She gasped with shock. Lavinia.

What on earth was Lavinia writing to her for? After all that had occurred between them? Lavinia had been kind and forgiving, but Mary had in effect stolen her fiancée. She remembered that night when Lavinia had walked in on them in the library, and shuddered with shame. After that, why on earth would Lavinia want to write to her?

She started to read.

 _Dear Mary,_

 _I expect you are rather surprised to be hearing from me after such a long time. I meant to write to congratulate you on your wedding, but somehow I couldn't make myself do it, it was too soon._

 _I wish you to know that I am not angry with either of you, and am happy that you are married. It is what I wanted when I left. I could see long ago that you two were meant for each other, and complicated everything by refusing to admit to myself what I knew._

 _I am certain that my leaving was the most sensible thing I had done for months, years even. I could never have been queen of the county, I would never have felt at home in that lovely house. I am a small person and I don't know how I ever thought I would be suited to that life. But I suppose I was blinded by adoration for Matthew. I hope you don't mind my writing frankly and honestly, for after all that happened, it only seems right to tell the truth. I loved Matthew, more than any man I'd met before. But I don't think we could ever have been happy together. I admire him for staying with me until I heard you talking in the library that night, and I finally had irrefutable proof._

 _But I shall not dwell on that time, when not one of the three of us was happy._

 _I hope you are both well, and that Matthew is happier than when I last saw him. I hope he continues to get stronger and has adjusted to living with his disability. I am certain that you are happily married, after the love I saw between you._

 _I write to tell you of something which has made me very happy, and has ended the unhappy chapter in all our lives. I am engaged to be married to a Mr James Ardleigh, the son of one of my father's friends. We are to marry in March, in London. This makes me more certain than ever that I did the right thing in leaving, for although I had a deep admiration and adoration for Matthew, now I know what real love is, I realise that I did not feel this for him. If I had not left, I would not have met James, and the thought of never having met him is a terrible one._

 _The reason I write, although I realise it has taken me rather a long time to get there, is to invite you both to our wedding. I know you may think it very strange, but you were both such important people in my life for a long time. And although I resented yours and Matthew's love for a time, you were very kind to me, although I know you must have hated me for being engaged to the man you loved. I would like it very much if you could be there._

 _Of course, I understand if you do not wish to come. Also, it may seem like a stupid invitation if Matthew can't travel all that way. But if you can, I would like you both to be there, and I would like you to meet James._

 _I enclose a proper invitation as well. Please write with your answer, and I will, truly, understand if you can't come._

 _Yours Sincerely,_

 _Lavinia Swire_

Mary let the letter drop to her lap. She had almost forgotten about Lavinia's existence, and now they were invited to her wedding. She smiled at the strangeness of the invitation, but was glad Lavinia was happy. She had hated the thought of Lavinia, but had never disliked her personally, and was glad she had found happiness elsewhere.

Would they go? She would have to discuss it with Matthew, she supposed. He would be glad too, she supposed, for he had always felt guilty for making her unhappy when she was such a sweet girl.

Could they manage the journey to London? Matthew hadn't been on a train since he was injured, but she could see no reason it would be impossible. It was a long journey, but surely they could manage it?

Where would they stay, though? Certainly not with Rosamund, as the family usually did when they went to London; there were no downstairs bedrooms. Grantham House could be opened up for them, she supposed, but there was no downstairs bedroom there either. Perhaps a hotel was a possibility, but that would need to be properly thought through.

She supposed there was little to be gained worrying about it until she had spoken with Matthew. He would be here soon, to see if she was up. She would ask him, and they would find a way to get there if he wanted to.

She re-read both her letters while she waited for him, then decided to get up. She rang for Anna. When Anna came she found herself telling her about the letter.

"Will you go then?" Anna asked.

"I don't know. I haven't spoken to Matthew yet."

"But do you want to?"

Mary thought for a minute.

"Yes, I suppose I do. It's been so long since I went to London. I would quite like to go shopping on Oxford Street like we used to before the war, and walk in the parks. And I did like Lavinia, you know. We could have been good friends if only she hadn't been engaged to Matthew, although I suppose that's silly, since if she hadn't been, I would never have met her. Anyway, I'm glad she's happy. And I would like to see her again."

Anna nodded absently. It seemed ridiculous to her that Mary was talking about the future when it was quite possible John would be dead by then. She couldn't even imagine there being a future beyond John's death.

Mary noticed her silence and guessed her thoughts.

"Don't lose hope yet, Anna. Papa is expecting a telegram any day, and until he receives it, we do not know what it will say."

Anna turned away. She knew Mary was trying to help, but there was nothing that would help except John's freedom.

Matthew came in just as Anna was leaving after finishing.

"Do you have any plans today, darling?" he asked. "I've got work to do, I'm afraid. I've got rather behind because of the trial and everything, so I'll be here most of the day, I think.

"No, I've got no plans. But Matthew, I've got something to tell you."

"What? What is it Mary?" Matthew asked, concerned.

She almost laughed at how he immediately thought there was something wrong.

"It's nothing bad. But… I got a letter." Mary went to sit down on the bed, and Matthew went over and stopped next to her. She reached to her bedside table and picked up the letter.

"Who's it from?" Matthew asked, resisting with difficulty the urge to take the letter from her to find out what it said and who had written it.

Mary took a deep breath before answering.

"Lavinia."

"What?" Matthew said incredulously.

"Lavinia Swire. She's getting married, and wants us to come to her wedding."

"Lavinia has invited you and me to her wedding?" Matthew said, still not quite believing it.

"Yes."

"After all this time and after what happened when we last saw her?"

"Yes."

They both stared at the letter in silence, still not quite believing what it said.

"When is it?" Matthew asked finally. Mary mutely handed him the invitation.

"March… London. James Ardleigh. Wait, I'm sure I know that name," Matthew murmured.

"Lavinia says he's the son of one of her father's friends."

"Yes, I remember now. William Ardleigh is one of the most highly respected barristers in London. He was at a dinner at Reggie Swire's house years ago, when I was just getting to know Lavinia. I don't think I've met his son though."

"Do you want to go then?" Mary asked, not particularly wanting to hear about all Matthew's lawyer friends in London, and about the time when he was with Lavinia.

"Lavinia really wants us to go?"

"She sent the invitation."

Matthew thought for a minute.

"It's in London. How would we get there? And where would we stay?" Matthew asked, imagining how long the journey would be in the car. It had felt like enough of an expedition going to York for the trial, never mind London.

"We'd go on the train of course. And I haven't quite thought through where we'd stay, but we could have Grantham House opened up, I suppose."

"But could we… could I, go on the train? And are there bedrooms downstairs in Grantham House?" Matthew asked sceptically.

"I don't see why we couldn't go on the train. And no, there are no bedrooms downstairs in Grantham House, but since it will be ours one day, it's about time there was one. There's time to sort everything out."

"I'm not having them change the house for me," Matthew said grumpily.

"So you never want to be able to go to London again, do you not?" Mary asked, exasperated. She had had enough of his making things harder than they had to be. "Papa won't mind, in fact, I expect he'll be annoyed he didn't think of it himself. I can arrange everything if you want to go. Do you?"

Matthew considered. He realised that once again, Mary was in a mood that meant there was no point arguing with her. He knew she would do anything and everything to make it as easy as possible for him, and he loved her for it.

"I suppose if she's invited us… and I'd like to see Reggie Swire again," he said uncertainly.

"Then that settles it. I shall write back to Lavinia now, accepting the invitation, then go to speak to Papa about bedrooms. I'm rather looking forward to it. It's been so long since I was last in London."

Matthew smiled and knew he had made the right decision in saying they would go. Mary had been stuck here with him for almost a year, apart from the few days in Ireland for Sybil's wedding, and before that, had hardly left home because of the war. She would enjoy being in London again.

* * *

Breaking his usual rules, Carson almost ran to the library where he knew Lord and Lady Grantham were sitting. He didn't knock, and Lord and Lady Grantham both started and turned in surprise when he entered the room.

"My Lord!" he said breathlessly, "My Lord." The two occupants of the room stood up, terrified that something awful must have happened to make Carson behave so.

"What in heaven's name…?" Lord Grantham asked as he rushed over from his desk.

"A telegram, My Lord," Carson said.

Bates, thought Robert. Good news or bad?

Carson handed him the telegram, and he ripped it open hurriedly. He looked at the writing, and for a second, it meant nothing to him. Then the letters seemed to come into focus and form words.

"Thank God," he breathed. "He's been reprieved. It's life imprisonment, but he's been reprieved."

"Go and fetch Anna," Cora instructed Carson.

* * *

"So the servants' ball will go ahead?" Mary asked.

"Yes. We can celebrate tonight, and worry about proving Bates' innocence tomorrow. Yes, we shall make tonight as merry as possible. Mrs Hughes says they can manage to get everything ready in time, and Carson's already telephoned the string quartet to tell them to come after all. It will be good to have something to celebrate," Robert said happily.

"Has anyone telephoned Edith? And Granny and Isobel?" Mary asked.

"Not yet," Cora replied.

"I'll do it now then," Mary said, and left the room.

Robert sat down and sighed. After so much worry, everything would be alright. It was only a matter of time before they found a way to prove Bates' innocence. Perhaps he wouldn't have to suffer Thomas as a valet for long. The man might have spent hours out looking for Isis, but Robert found he couldn't like Thomas, however hard he tried to forgive him for the stealing and tried to ignore Thomas' preference for men. Robert had never been able to understand men like Thomas, and didn't particularly like trying. The thought made him uncomfortable. Thomas seemed to work hard enough though, and he deserved a chance to prove himself. But he wasn't Bates.

The house was a bustle of activity that day with the preparations for the ball. Anna went to York to see John and felt so relieved, she spent the whole day almost in tears.

She dressed Mary for the ball early so as to have time to change herself, and she went about her work in a sort of daze. She had felt nothing but relief all day, but now, when everyone was preparing to celebrate, she didn't feel like there was much to celebrate. John would live, but life imprisonment sounded daunting and permanent. Lord Grantham had seemed confident that John would be released soon, but she was not so sure that it would be that easy. She would do what she could, of course, but it seemed so hard to prove that somebody _didn't_ do something. Surely in a sensible world, it would be the other way around, and it would have to be proven that he _did_ to lock him up.

But there was hope, and she was determined that she would have him released and back in her arms one day.

"Mary?" she said.

"Yes?"

"After today, I don't think I need to… well, if you don't mind I would rather stay here, now John is not going to be... now he'll be alright."

Mary smiled at her kindly.

"Of course I want you to stay. Even if it had gone badly for Bates, you would have had a hard job leaving. I don't know what I'd do without you. Of course you must stay. Now, are you going to dance tonight? Just once? I know you might not feel like it, but it's great fun, and Bates would want you to. He wouldn't want you to be sitting at the edge of the room on your own."

"I don't know. I just can't even think about dancing when John is alone in a dark cell, and is going to be there a long time. I don't want to ruin the ball for everyone else, but it just doesn't seem right," Anna said sadly.

Mary shook her head.

"I understand. But Bates would want you to enjoy yourself. Think about it."

Anna finished Mary's hair and stood back to check it.

"Go and get ready yourself now, Anna. I'll see you later."

Anna nodded and left.

Mary looked at herself in the mirror. Anna had done a good job with her hair. She stood up and looked at herself in the full length mirror on the wall. She was wearing her new dress, a deep red one with several layers of skirts. She hadn't worn it before, and was looking forward to Matthew seeing her in it. She knew it suited her dark hair and ivory skin, and she loved the way it rustled when she walked. Around her neck, she was wearing the necklace Matthew had given her for Christmas. It felt heavy and cool around her neck, the sensation reminding her always that it was there. And despite her thinking that the engraving on the back was pointless when she had first seen it, now she delighted in knowing that the evidence of Matthew's love for her was with her, touching her warm skin. She admired the effect of the dancing reflected light in the jet and waited for Matthew.

Finally, she heard the doorknob turn, and Matthew came in. She turned to look at him, and he gasped and looked at her with his mouth hanging slightly open. She smiled.

"You look beautiful, my darling," he said, looking in wonder at Mary's dress and the necklace. He was pleased she had worn it. He had spent a long time in the jewellery shop in York deciding what to buy, while mother had waited patiently, making suggestions. He had looked at almost everything in the shop, before seeing the necklace and knowing that it would be perfect for Mary. It was beautiful and glittering and elegant, like her. Mother had thought he was mad for buying it when she saw the price, but he had known that nothing else would do now he had seen that necklace, so he had bought it.

He had waited for Christmas and imagined her wearing it. And now here she was, wearing it and looking so beautiful, he couldn't believe she was his wife. He couldn't believe that a woman as magnificent as Lady Mary Crawley would choose him when she could have had any man she chose. He loved her so much, it almost hurt.

"And you look very handsome. Or, at least, you usually do. At this precise moment, you quite closely resemble a fish," Mary said, cutting across Matthew's thoughts. He snapped his mouth shut, realising how foolish he must look. He laughed.

"Truly, Mary, I don't think I've ever seen you looking more beautiful," he said, trying to be serious.

"Not even in this?" she asked, holding up the sheer nightdress she had worn on their wedding night; she had already laid it out for later. Matthew laughed again and shook his head.

"Well, perhaps. But even so, you look wonderful."

"As do you. In fact, I don't think I can resist you for a moment longer," Mary said, walking towards him. She draped herself across his lap and kissed him passionately. He put his arms around her and held her lovingly and kissed her back. He reached up and without thinking and began to stroke her hair, but she drew away suddenly.

"Don't you dare mess me up, Matthew Crawley. Anna spent a long time doing that," she said sternly. Matthew grinned at her, unabashed. "Come on, we'll be late for dinner if we don't go now. And I fear if we are alone any longer, I'll not be presentable enough for a ball," she said, her cheeks turning slightly pink.

"No, but you'll be presentable enough to come to bed with me," Matthew said, and he kissed her quickly. "Come on then."

Mary stood up and straightened her dress and they went to dinner.

* * *

Carson and Cora opened the ball together, as they always did, then Robert joined in with Mrs Hughes. Mary sat with Matthew at the edge of the room and tried not to laugh out loud at the sight. Matthew forced a smile, but inside he had lost his good humour of earlier in the day, and felt miserable. Robert might have complained about the ball when they were drinking their whisky after dinner, but Matthew knew he enjoyed it really. Matthew would have done anything to be able to complain about who he had to dance with, because then he would be able to dance with Mary afterwards, when they had done their duty with the servants. But he could no more dance than he could fly to the moon. He silently cursed his damned useless legs.

William came over and asked Mary to dance, and Matthew watched her go off and dance with him, both of them clearly enjoying themselves. He thought about excusing himself, claiming tiredness or a headache or something, but knew that would worry Mary and ruin her night. He considered just slipping out without being noticed, but it would be impossible to leave without attracting someone's attention.

Then Mary came to sit down again and smiled at him.

"William's a surprisingly good dancer," she said.

"Anyone would look good dancing with you," Matthew replied truthfully. He remembered all the times he had danced with her before the war and how everyone had looked at them, admired them, despite the fact he had never been a brilliant dancer. It made him so miserable to think that he would never feel the thrill of whirling her around the dancefloor again.

They sat in silence, watching the dancers wistfully. William was dancing with Daisy now, and they were looking into each other's eyes lovingly, clearly having a wonderful time. Isobel was now dancing with Carson and Robert with O'Brien.

Mary nudged Matthew and gestured towards them.

"Look at papa's face," she said. Robert was looking at O'Brien with a fixed smile that made him look as if he was in pain. He was holding her as far away as possible and looking thoroughly uncomfortable. Matthew found himself laughing a little despite himself. It was well known how little Robert liked O'Brien.

Mary looked across the room to where Anna had been sitting with one of the housemaids. She frowned when she saw she was gone.

"Matthew, have you seen Anna?" she asked.

Matthew looked around the room and shook his head. "Perhaps all the joy and excitement was too much, considering her husband is locked up in a prison cell."

Mary sighed sadly. "Yes. Of course it's wonderful he'll not be hanged, but I wish he could simply be released now. I wish there was something we could do."

"Actually," Matthew said slowly, "I've been thinking. I know Murray will be working to try to get Bates released, but he will have other clients, and who knows how long it will take? I thought that perhaps we could… help. I mean, there must be some evidence somewhere to prove he's innocent."

Mary looked startled. "But… what can we do?"

"Well, there must be neighbours, they may have seen something. Maybe Vera Bates kept a diary. Perhaps she wrote something in a letter, or said something to someone… Who knows? But there will be something. We can help find it."

"Truly? You really think there's something we could do to help?" Mary asked hopefully.

"We can try, can't we? Bates deserves it."

"Of course he does. If you really think… Oh Matthew, it's a splendid idea," Mary said, taking his hand. "You're right, there must be something. And Anna has already said she will do anything."

They smiled at each other, suddenly full of hope and excitement.

At that moment, Anna came up to Mary and whispered something in her ear. Mary frowned and stood up.

"I'll be back in a minute, darling," she said, and left without explanation.

Matthew felt suddenly depressed and miserable again without Mary at his side. He watched the dancers, frowning and wondering where on earth Mary had gone with Anna and Rosamund.

Isobel saw him sitting alone and went over to him, having finished dancing with Carson.

"Where's Mary?" she asked, looking around for her.

"I don't know. She disappeared off with Anna and Rosamund without saying where they were going or why."

Isobel felt anger at Mary rising inside her. Surely Mary must have been able to see that Matthew would find the ball difficult, and if she had, how on earth could she have left him alone?

"Don't be angry with her, mother; I'm sure there is a perfectly good reason, and really, I can cope with being left alone for a while, you know," Matthew said irritably, guessing his mother's thoughts.

Isobel tried to interest her son in conversations on various subjects, but without much success. Only when Mary reappeared did he smile properly again. She sat down next to Isobel and sighed.

"Don't ask where I was. I'll tell you later. Not here," she said to Matthew.

Then they were interrupted by Thomas, coming to ask Mary to dance. She considered it, but declined, saying she was tired and it was too hot.

"Let's go outside," she muttered to Matthew and he nodded. She manoeuvred his wheelchair past the dancers and the people standing around drinking and talking and pushed him out of the front door.

The air was cool and fresh, a wonderful contrast from the oppressive heat and noise of the hall. They could hear the music from here, but the babble of conversations had disappeared.

"We found Lord Hepworth and Rosamund's maid in a rather… compromising position. He's leaving in the morning. That's where I went," Mary said.

"Good God! How did you know?"

"Anna saw them disappearing off upstairs together. And she said they'd been behaving oddly for a while."

"How awful for Rosamund."

"It wouldn't have happened if she didn't think it a good idea to court a fortune hunter," Mary said scornfully.

"Come on Mary, she's lonely, and he flattered her. It's his fault, not hers," Matthew said reproachfully.

"I know," Mary said slowly. She was silent for a minute, then said, "Your mother didn't look over pleased with me. I'm sorry I left you. I know it's hard…"

"Don't apologise, Mary, I was fine. It's just… I would give anything to be able to dance with you for just one minute," Matthew said sadly.

"Me too," Mary replied, and she went to sit on his lap. She stroked his thick blonde hair gently and began to hum the tune the quartet could be heard playing in the hall. "But a year ago, I would have given anything to be able to sit with you like this, and stroke your hair and kiss you. And now I can." She kissed him gently on the lips and drew away smiling.

"A year won't make any difference to my inability to dance. I might not even be here in a year," Matthew said gloomily.

"Oh, for goodness sake Matthew!" Mary exclaimed. "Why must you always bring that up? You've survived over a year, I see no reason you shouldn't make it through another thirty, forty, even fifty of them. Why can't you simply enjoy this moment?"

She began to hum along with the music again.

"Hold me. Like at our wedding," she said.

Matthew looked as if he was going to protest, but Mary kissed him again and he did as she asked. They danced like they had at their wedding, swaying gently with the music as Mary hummed. Mary felt Matthew's tense shoulders relax and when she pulled back a little to look at his face, she smiled to see he was no longer frowning.

Matthew closed his eyes and inhaled the familiar and comforting scent of Mary's perfume. When she was in his arms, nothing ever seemed so bad, and he could never stay unhappy for long. He could forget they were dancing sitting down and simply enjoy the gentle swaying to the music.

Mary suddenly shivered and stopped swaying. She looked up.

"I think I felt a raindrop," she said, holding out her hand.

"Not rain, snow!" Matthew said as a delicate flake dropped into Mary's open hand and melted instantly. He looked up too and then gasped when a snowflake fell in his eye. Mary laughed at him as he blinked and rubbed his eye.

"It's freezing!" he cried.

"It's snow, darling," Mary said, smirking and raising her eyebrows.

The snow began to fall quicker and heavier and Mary shivered again.

"Do you want to go inside?" Matthew asked.

"Let's stay out a little longer. Snow is so beautiful when it's falling. And I'm so happy here."

"Have my jacket then," Matthew said and began to struggle to get it off, quite a challenge with Mary still sitting on his lap. She stood up and helped him sit forwards and shrug it off. He wrapped it around her when she sat down again.

"The gallantry of the gesture is lost a bit when you have to help me take my jacket off," Matthew said, but Mary stopped him talking with a kiss, and he didn't resist. They remained like that, oblivious to the freezing weather and the thickly falling snow, for what seemed like an age. Then they went to bed and made up for the misery of the earlier evening by enjoying themselves more than they could ever have done dancing in front of all the family and servants.

* * *

 _She twirled around in front of him and he watched admiringly as she danced closer and closer to him, her smile enticing and stunningly beautiful. He opened his arms and she danced into them. He swept her up off her feet, and her red dress flew out in a circle around them. Her chocolate brown hair came loose from the combs and pins that were holding it up and flared out behind her head, releasing the warm, seductive scent of her perfume. Her dark eyes glittered captivatingly and he found he was incapable of looking away as they spun around and around._

 _The music changed to a waltz, and he set her down and whirled her around the empty dancefloor, their feet moving together effortlessly in time to the music. They waltzed past Robert and Cora who clapped and cheered, then past William and Daisy, who were kissing. They twirled past Mother and Father who were holding each other tightly and lovingly, but who smiled and waved when they saw him and Mary. They passed Lavinia and Reggie Swire, who raised their champagne glasses to them._

 _Then all the people disappeared, and they were alone on the dancefloor. The music sped up, got faster and faster. He twirled her around faster and faster to keep time and soon the world was just a colourful blur and all that mattered was_ her, _her eyes, her rosy lips, her wild hair. The music slowed down, and they slowed down with it, although the world didn't come back into focus. They looked into each other's eyes and leaned in together and kissed, still swaying and turning in time to the music. Her tongue found his and he tasted champagne as he explored her mouth with his tongue._

 _They carried on turning and kissing, and he began to feel sleepy. He felt warm and safe and loved, and his eyelids began to feel heavy and to droop. He tried to keep them open so he would never have to stop looking at her, but he saw that her eyes were closing too, and he relaxed. The music faded away, as did the rest of the world, and he drifted slowly into a deep sleep._

Matthew breathed in deeply and opened his eyes, to see the deep brown eyes from his dream staring back at him. The rosy lips came towards his and kissed him gently. He could smell the faint scent of that familiar perfume.

"You were smiling," she said softly, smiling that enticing smile.

"I was dreaming of you," he said sleepily.

"What did you dream?" she breathed.

He thought back to the wild twirling and the waltzing and the kissing.

"We were dancing," he said slowly, "You were in a red dress, twirling around and around. Then I picked you up and whirled you around and around. And you smiled at me. Like you're smiling at me now. And Father was there, with Mother. They were together, happy. And we were happy, so very happy…"

Mary continued to look into his eyes, smiling.

"Aren't we so very happy now?" she asked.

"Of course we are my darling," he replied. "How could you think otherwise after last night?"

Mary blushed a little as she thought of last night. When they had come in from the snow, they had gone straight to bed, undressing each other with such haste and desperation, they had somehow managed to tear her delicate undergarments. Not that she cared. They had kissed and touched and tasted each other all over. And then… After almost a year of marriage, she finally knew what it felt like to have him 'come' inside her. And it had been beyond anything she had ever dreamed of.

Matthew watched Mary's face as these thoughts crossed her mind, and he too thought of last night. It still felt as if it had been a dream, it had been so perfect. Never had he thought he would feel what he felt last night. He hadn't been able to feel _there,_ of course he hadn't, but he had known that he had finally managed to be a proper husband to his wife in every way, had given her what she deserved to have. And he knew because he _had_ felt it. He had felt it in every inch of his body that he could feel. And it had been _wonderful._ He had felt an overwhelming joy and excitement, he had felt _alive,_ and yes, he had felt a sort of release. He knew it didn't really make sense, but he had felt it.

And now, now they could really begin to hope for children.

Mary suddenly sat up and opened the curtains of the bed.

"Darling?" Matthew asked, closing his eyes to the daylight, still sleepy.

Mary went to the window, looked out and turned back to look at him with bright eyes.

"I just remembered: the snow! Oh, it's beautiful! Come and see."

Matthew sat up and pulled himself to the edge of the bed.

"Mary, I can't…"

"Oh, sorry," she said and she helped him into his wheelchair before pushing him to the window.

The world was covered in a thick blanket of snow, glittering in the weak early morning sunlight. It was still early, and nobody had yet disturbed it. It transformed the garden into a magical scene that seemed as if it was out of a book. Even the trees were heavy with snow.

They stared out at it in wonder.

"Come on, let's go out," Matthew said enthusiastically, properly awake now.

"Now?"

"Yes."

"We're not even dressed."

"What time is it?" Matthew asked, then remembered he hadn't removed his wristwatch last night, and checked. "It's too early to ring, I suppose, especially after the late night last night. But we can dress ourselves, can't we?"

"Well, I'm sure you can, but I'm ashamed to admit I have no idea whatsoever how to do my hair, and putting a corset on without help is practically impossible."

"You've got help: me."

"You may be very adept at taking my corset off, darling, but it's more complicated putting it on."

"Can't you… go without it? Just while we go out? You can dress properly later. Nobody will be able to tell under your coat anyway, and besides, nobody's up yet."

Mary raised her eyebrows, then shrugged and nodded. "Alright, you win."

It took a while for them both to be dressed to go out, but even by the time they were ready, it was still early enough that there would be nobody else up; the servants were allowed to sleep in a little later than usual after the ball.

They were the first to go out the front door, and it felt wrong to spoil the snow. But it couldn't be helped, and Mary pushed Matthew out into the white garden.

It was hard work pushing the chair through the snow, even with Matthew helping as much as he could, but it was worth it for the beauty of the unspoilt snow. They reached their favourite bench and Mary cleared the snow off a small part of it and sat down, not caring about getting her coat wet; she was going to have to change later anyway.

"I dreamed of us dancing last night as well," she said after a while. Matthew looked at her.

"Tell me."

"We were in the ballroom in Grantham House. It was full of people, but all their faces seemed to be a blur. There was music, and I looked around for you. Then you came up behind me and picked me up and twirled me around. Then we seemed to dance for hours, looking into each other's eyes all the time. And we…" she trailed off, embarrassed.

"We what?" Matthew asked.

"We weren't wearing any clothes," she said, blushing a delicate shade of pink.

Matthew laughed.

"That sounds like an excellent dream."

"It was."

"We both danced with each other last night then," Matthew said.

"Yes, in a way. And in reality, we could never have danced without clothes on, so it was almost better."

"I wish we could dance, really dance, in real life," Matthew said wistfully.

"So do I. But we both got as close to it as we ever will last night."

"I wish you could save your happiest dreams, and dream them again and again," Matthew said.

"Are you not happy with real life?" Mary asked.

"I am when you're around."

"I'm always around. I'm not going anywhere."

"Come and kiss me," Matthew commanded, opening his arms to her. Mary went to sit on his lap, and allowed herself to be kissed gently. And as they kissed, the snow began to fall again, although they noticed nothing, so absorbed were they in their love for each other.


	30. Chapter 30

Mary looked up suddenly from the book she had been reading when she heard a knock on the door. She had been sitting with Matthew in such silence, the sudden sound had startled her, despite the fact she had been expecting it.

"Come in," she called, putting a bookmark in her book.

Anna opened the door, expertly balancing the tea tray as she did so. She set it down on the table and stood awkwardly, her eyes going between Mary and Matthew as she tried to decide what she was expected to do.

"Sit down, Anna," Matthew said, smiling kindly and gesturing to an armchair.

Anna sat. It was strange to be sitting in a comfortable armchair in the presence of the family, and she wondered what Mr Carson would have to say on the subject. She could see the precise expression he would be wearing, and didn't know whether it was funny, or intimidating.

"You needn't look so worried, Anna," Mary said, seeing Anna's discomfort. "You are here as my friend, whom we are going to do everything in our power to help, and as such, it is perfectly right that you should sit in an armchair and take tea with us."

Anna gave a small smile and a nod, and relaxed slightly in her chair.

"How was Bates?" Matthew asked, partly because the subject was likely to set Anna at her ease, but also because he liked and admired Bates, and the thought of him in a prison cell was so awful and unjust. Which was, of course, the reason this conversation was taking place at all.

"He's as well as can be expected under the circumstances, sir," Anna replied, a look of concern clouding her features. "And he's very grateful you for helping us. I asked for an account of his movements that day, as you asked, and he seemed fairly confident that the times are accurate. I have it written down here." She reached into her pocket and found the carefully folded sheet of paper.

"Good," Matthew said. "That will help us know if any evidence we find is relevant and helpful."

"I had a letter in the post this morning with Mrs Bartlett's address on it," Anna said, reaching into her pocket again and taking out an envelope. "It's in London, but I don't know London well." She turned to Mary. "I was wondering if I could have the day off to go and meet her, and see if she has anything to say. It would only take a day, and…"

"Of course you can have the day to go and see her," Mary interrupted. "You can have as many days as it takes to get Bates free. But perhaps you should write first; if she really was Mrs Bates' friend, she's not likely to want to say anything that would help Bates in any way, and I doubt she will have a very high opinion of you."

"I know, and I will write to her," Anna said with a sigh. "But she's our last hope. I wrote to every address in Vera's address book, and there was nothing. If Mrs Bartlett has nothing, then what are we to do?"

"We shall simply have to extend our search for witnesses. There must be neighbours who saw something. But it is quite possible that Mrs Bartlett will have something to say. If she was a friend and neighbour, she must have seen Mrs Bates regularly. Even if she only says that Mrs Bates was depressed, that is something to go on, and if we can find enough people who say the same, we may have something," Matthew said.

"I'll write to her this evening," Anna said, slightly reassured by Matthew's words.

"Why don't you ask to visit when we're in London for Lavinia's wedding?" Mary suggested. "That way, you will have more time, and you won't have to make a separate trip."

Anna nodded. There was silence for a minute, before Matthew said suddenly,

"No, I don't think you should be the one to meet Mrs Bartlett, Anna. Mary is right, if she was a friend of Mrs Bates', she will not want to help you. Perhaps if someone else goes, someone who is less obviously on Bates' side, she could be persuaded to give a statement to the police before she realises she has anything to say that might actually help Bates. Of course, it's possible that she won't have anything to say that will help, but it is possible she may."

Mary and Anna looked at him curiously.

"Who would go then?" Mary asked.

Matthew was silent for a minute, frowning slightly as he thought. Then his brow cleared and he looked at Mary.

"You could."

Mary stared. "Me? Why?"

"I think perhaps you could convince her that you just want the whole thing over with. Tell her you simply want your maid to stop believing in her husband's innocence so everything can go back to normal. Convince her to make a statement to the police without letting on if you think she had anything important to say."

Mary and Anna stared at each other.

"You think I could convince her?" Mary said uncertainly.

"I think you are a good actress. I think it's our best hope."

"Then of course I must try."

* * *

Isobel walked along the platform, going faster and faster as the train sped up. Matthew smiled at her and waved as the train drew away from the station and she disappeared from sight. He shook his head.

"Honestly, we're only going away for a week."

"I know. But the last time she waved you off like this, you were going away to war. And that was almost two years ago. And you're her only son," Mary said. Matthew conceded this point and nodded. He slipped his arm around Mary.

"Are you looking forward to London then?" he asked.

"Yes, I am. It's been so long. I've missed the bustle of the streets and the crowds of people and the shops and the traffic. I couldn't bear to live there, but Yorkshire is so quiet." She thought for a moment. "Are you nervous about seeing Lavinia again?" she asked.

"A little, I suppose. I've felt so guilty about the way she walked in on us talking like that. And we were engaged for over two years. It's strange to have been that close to her, and then not see or hear from her for a year. I'm glad she's found her own happiness, that we didn't ruin her life. Because that's what it felt like for a while."

"Nobody ruined anyone's life. Do you think any of us would have been happy if we had married people we did not love? We should have just admitted it earlier, before Lavinia had to find out the way she did. Anyway, that is all in the past now. Everything worked out perfectly."

They were quiet for a while. They both thought of the planned visit to Audrey Bartlett, but neither wanted to talk about that now, not when they were going on their first trip as a married couple.

Matthew could still hardly believe they were doing this. After his injury, he had simply accepted that he wouldn't be able to travel, and his world had become Downton Abbey. Then it had gradually expanded again, first to include Downton Village, then Ripon and the nearby countryside, then recently York. And now, they were going all the way to London. Getting on the train had been awkward, but not nearly as bad as he had expected, and now they were on it, and speeding away from Downton, he began to truly believe Mary's promise that they would find a way to go wherever they wanted.

His cheerful mood was dampened slightly when he thought of what they would be doing in London. Or rather, who they would be seeing. There was Lavinia, and of course her fiancée. Then there was Reggie Swire. Matthew never knew how much Lavinia told her father, but they were very close, so he assumed she had told him about how her engagement had ended.

Matthew looked at Mary, and she saw his troubled expression. She raised an eyebrow. _Tell me._

"I'm more nervous about seeing Reggie Swire. He was so kind to me, and I repaid him by loving someone who was not his daughter. I don't know what one is supposed to say in a situation like this," Matthew said.

Mary squeezed his hand. "I don't believe there is anything one is _supposed_ to say, but you'll know what to say when it comes to it. Lavinia is going to be married. I'm sure he has forgiven you, if he was ever angry in the first place. If he's anything like Lavinia, I doubt he would ever have blamed you."

Matthew wasn't so sure, but there wasn't much he could do about it now. They were on their way to London, and the wedding was the day after tomorrow.

They spent the first part of the journey reading, Matthew a newspaper and Mary a novel. Mary took off her shoes and put her feet up on the seat, snuggling up next to Matthew. He tried to concentrate on his newspaper, but Mary's closeness to him was distracting, although distracting in the best way possible. Eventually, he gave up, and put his paper down. Mary put her book down, and they sat in contented silence, until the familiar sounds of the train lulled them to sleep.

* * *

"Mary? Darling, wake up, we're almost there."

Mary's eyes fluttered open and Matthew smiled at her.

"Did I sleep all that time?" she asked, taking in the familiar mass of buildings through the window. She sat up properly and rubbed her eyes.

"Yes. I did too, actually. I only woke up a minute or so ago," Matthew replied. He had retained the skill he had learned in the army of waking up precisely when he told himself he would wake up, so they had never been in danger of missing their stop.

Matthew watched Mary as she slowly woke up properly. He thought she never looked more beautiful than when she was just waking up. Her hair was untidy, delicate wisps of it escaping from the combs and pins. He reached out and wound a stray strand around his finger, and Mary laughed.

"Do I look a mess?" she asked.

"Not a mess, precisely. But not quite like you did when you left the house this morning," Matthew replied.

Mary took a tiny mirror out of her handbag and looked at herself. She frowned. She put her hat on and tried to tuck the stray hairs into it to make herself look presentable until they reached the house.

"How are you feeling?" she asked when she was satisfied with her appearance.

"Fine. A bit stiff, but alright," Matthew replied. "You don't need to worry, darling."

"I'm not worrying. It's just… well, it's been a long journey."

"I mean it, I'm fine. Not that I won't be glad to reach the house."

Then the train stopped and Mary looked around to check they had put everything away in bags and pockets, then stood up and opened the door of their compartment without waiting for it to be opened for her. She went out on the platform to look for William, but she couldn't see him in the crowds of people getting off the train. _He will be here soon_ , she told herself, and she looked back at Matthew.

"He'll be here any minute. Are you ready?" she asked. Matthew shifted himself as close to the door as possible to make it easier for William when he came, then nodded.

Mary looked around again, and to her relief, spotted William, pushing Matthew's wheelchair towards her.

"Sorry it took so long, Mi' Lady. All these people…" he said when he reached them. Mary smiled to show she didn't blame him. He went to the door and lifted Matthew out of the train into his chair. Matthew tried not to think about all the people watching, but he knew they would be. It was easier getting off the train than onto it, but it still seemed to take far too long.

Anna appeared carrying some of the bags, and William went off to find the rest of them.

They found Rosamund's car waiting for them just outside the station, like she had said it would be. Rosamund had lent them her chauffeur and car while they were there to save them having to travel by cab, which would probably have been impossible with the wheelchair anyway. Mary got into the car and William helped Matthew in next to her, then helped the chauffeur to strap the wheelchair and suitcases on the top and back of the car.

When they reached the house, Mary was rather excited to see the new downstairs bedroom. Robert had been as enthusiastic as Mary had predicted about it, and it had been made ready for them in the last month. She asked the housekeeper to show them there immediately.

It was large, since it had been a sitting room before. There was a large canopy bed, a wardrobe, and a dressing table, and next to an ornate fireplace, there was a sofa and an armchair.

The housekeeper left them alone in the room, and Mary looked at Matthew, taking in his weary expression and awkward posture.

"You need to lie down. No, don't argue, it'll be you who will suffer if you don't."

Matthew considered arguing, but decided against it. The truth was, he was exhausted, his back ached and his shoulders were stiff and painful. He hated the fact that it was necessary, but Mary was right, he did need to lie down.

"Fine," he answered with a sigh. He wheeled himself the rest of the way to the bed and Mary helped him onto it. She helped him lie down on his stomach, then lay down next to him, her face inches from his.

"We can have dinner late, so we have hours to rest before then," Mary said softly. "Sleep, my darling." She reached out and ran her hand through his hair. He closed his eyes and felt himself drifting off to sleep within minutes, concentrating on the sensation of her fingers massaging his head.

* * *

They didn't change into evening clothes for dinner, but were wore the most comfortable, relaxed clothes they had brought. They were making the most of being alone in the house, with nobody to please but themselves.

"Do you ever want to be alone, to have our own home?" Matthew asked after a few minutes comfortable silence when the servants had left them to their meal.

Mary frowned as she thought about it.

"Sometimes. But I love Downton too much to ever want to leave it. I grew up thinking it would always be my home, because of Patrick. Why, do you?" She felt suddenly worried. Since their marriage, she had wondered if Matthew was happy living at Downton. Of course, she couldn't really see why anyone wouldn't want to live there, but she knew it was different for him. If things had been different, they would probably have lived either in Crawley House, or in a house of their own, and it was impossible not to wonder if that is what Matthew would have preferred.

Matthew took a sip of wine before answering. "Sometimes. It has always been your home, I know, and I love it. But I don't feel about it quite as you do. Sometimes it would be nice to be able to decide not to dress for dinner, or to hold your hand or kiss you over dinner, or to leave the table when you do instead of staying with Robert. It would be nice to have somewhere we could really call our own, where we could just be Matthew and Mary Crawley, not the future Earl and Countess of Grantham."

Mary bit her lip and reached out for Matthew's hand. "We could, you know. We could find a house of our own. I love Downton, but anywhere you are is home to me now. You see, you have changed me. I never thought I could be happy anywhere else. But now, if you were happy, I think I could be too."

Matthew squeezed her hand and shook his head. "That's not what I meant. You see, you've changed me too. I say that _sometimes_ it would be nice to have our own house, but in truth, I am beginning to see Downton as you do, and the thought of leaving is just… strange. I don't mean to take you away from your home, and I do love Robert and Cora. Just… let's make the most of the freedom while we're here."

"That sounds like an excellent plan," Mary said, and she went to sit next to Matthew instead of opposite him, bringing her plate with her. She moved her chair as close as possible to him. They ate in a most undignified manner, feeding each other bits of food every now and then, and kissing whenever they wanted, which was often.

When they had finished eating, Mary suddenly smirked.

"I think I should like a glass of brandy tonight," she said, causing Matthew to laugh incredulously.

"Then you shall have one."

The servants removed the tablecloth and put the brandy on the table with one glass. They both had to smother laugher at the scandalised expression on the footman's face when Matthew asked for another glass for Mary. He looked for a moment as if he would say something, but didn't, and reappeared promptly with a second glass.

Mary let Matthew fill her glass, then took a swig of it as she had seen her father do. She choked a little on the strange burning sensation as she swallowed, but smiled and took another smaller sip, managing this time to look as if she did this every day.

"Do you like it?" Matthew asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Honestly, no. But I shall still finish this glass," Mary said, determined, and she did, not choking on the strong liquor again, as Matthew watched, smiling.

When they had finished, Mary looked at the clock.

"There's nobody to tell us it's too early. Let's go to bed," she said.

"That sounds like a good idea. As long as you're not planning on sleeping for many hours yet."

"Of course I'm not. What would be the fun or the freedom in that?"

* * *

Matthew stared without seeing out the car window, hardly noticing the familiar buildings they were passing. His attention was caught up in the past. He remembered the early days of his and Lavinia's courtship, the secret smiles across the dinner table at her father's house, the walks in Regent's Park, the chaste kisses on the cheek when he had to leave her. He remembered how easy it had been to be with her. They never argued like he had done with Mary, never played clever games with words that left him excited and aroused. But she was so sweet, so kind. She gave him something to think of when he was at war, something to fight for, to live for.

Being in London again brought it all back to him, those wonderful, blissful days and weeks away from the front, living something like an ordinary life, as if there were not millions of men dying just over the water. He realised now that that was what had attracted him to Lavinia, her ordinariness. She had made it possible to forget for a while all that he had seen and done, and would have to see and do again.

It seemed so long ago now. So much had changed. London was no longer full of men in uniform and ambulances and nurses. It almost didn't feel like it could be true that he was travelling to Lavinia's wedding now. It seemed almost as if Lavinia belonged to a different world, and he could barely believe she had been living a life, separate from his, for over a year.

"What are you thinking?" Mary asked, bringing him suddenly back to the present. She leaned closer to him and kissed his neck tenderly. When she drew away, it felt as if everywhere she had touched was on fire. So different from the shy kissed he had exchanged with Lavinia. God, he loved his wife so much.

"Nothing, really," he answered casually. He somehow doubted that Mary would appreciate him telling her what he had really been thinking, about Lavinia.

"We're almost there, if I remember correctly," Mary said, peering out the window and attempting to remember this part of London. "Yes, there is the church, I can see it."

The car stopped a little way down the road, the road directly outside the church being busy with other guests arriving. The chauffeur came around and opened the door and Mary stepped gracefully out, smoothing her dress down when she was standing on the pavement. William came around with the wheelchair and helped Matthew into it.

"Ready, darling?" Mary asked.

"Yes," Matthew replied, and began to wheel himself towards the church. Mary walked beside him. Unusually for her, she felt nervous. The guests at the wedding would not belong to her world. They would all be lawyers and… well, she wasn't sure what else. She wouldn't know anyone there apart from Lavinia, and it was awkward enough with her anyway, despite the letters they had exchanged in the last few weeks. It was alright for Matthew. He fitted perfectly into her own world and into this one. He would probably know half the guests. But she wasn't sure how she ought to behave with these people.

Matthew could tell from her silence that she was nervous, and smiled. Lady Mary Crawley, nervous at a social occasion. But he doubted she would want him to know this, so he said nothing.

They found space to sit at the back of the church. As more of the guests began to arrive, they began to notice that they were being looked at. Many people present knew Matthew at least by sight as Lavinia's ex-fiancée, and were intrigued as to why he was there, at her wedding to another man. And those who didn't know him were told in whispers that he was Miss Swire's old fiancée, and he had thrown her over for another woman. Or that Miss Swire had left him for Mr Ardleigh.

Mary retreated behind her composed and slightly haughty social mask, ignoring the looks they were getting. Matthew watched her tenderly, loving her for the nervousness and insecurity behind the mask. The real Mary was so much more human than she would have the world believe.

Then the talk stopped and the music began to play. Mary and Matthew both held their breath without realising they were doing so as the door opened.

Lavinia appeared, like an angel with her pale skin and hair in the white dress. She held her father's arm and smiled that sweet smile that Matthew knew so well. She didn't look radiantly beautiful as Mary had on their wedding day, but she looked happy, and Matthew was happy for her.

As she walked past them, she looked at them and nodded gently. Matthew smiled at her in return, and she walked on without looking back.

* * *

"Matthew, my dear boy, it's good to see you again, and looking so well!"

Matthew looked up to see Reggie Swire standing next to him, leaning heavily on a walking stick, but beaming down at him. They shook hands, and Reggie sat down on the empty chair next to Matthew.

"And this must be Lady Mary, whom I've heard so much about," Reggie said, looking at Mary, who was sitting on a chair on Matthew's other side.

"All good I hope," Mary said, and remembered suddenly that that was exactly what she had said the first time she had met Lavinia.

"All good, I promise," Reggie said. "Pleased to meet you."

"And I you, Mr Swire," Mary replied confidently, and only Matthew saw how she was digging her fingernails into the palm of her hand in her nervousness. He reached out and held her hand to stop her.

"How are you, sir?" Matthew asked Reggie politely.

"My chest is giving me trouble as usual, I'm afraid to say, but I'm glad to have lived to see my Lavinia wed. I'm an old man now, illness is only to be expected."

"I'm sorry you're unwell. But you're not that old, Reggie," Matthew said, trying to keep his voice light. Really though, he was worried. Reggie did look much older and weaker than the last time Matthew had seen him, although that had been almost two years ago. He remembered Lavinia telling him when he had last seen her that her father's health was worse, but he hadn't expected him to be this weak.

Matthew shook himself. No, Lavinia's wedding was not the right time for morbid thoughts, so when he spoke again, it was about a lighter subject. "I'm very glad to see Lavinia happy too." He looked away suddenly. They could hardly avoid talking about what had happened between him and Lavinia now.

"Don't look so worried, my boy," Reggie said, smiling kindly at Matthew. "I'm not about to bite your head off about what happened over a year ago. I have nothing against people marrying for love, and I guessed quite early in our acquaintance that there was a cousin up in Yorkshire whom you'd never quite got over. But I left it to you to sort yourselves out. And now you have done, and very sensibly. Lavinia has her James, and I expect she'll be happier here in London with him than she would ever have been up in the wilds of Yorkshire with you, however much you both fancied yourselves in love. And I can see well enough that you're happily married yourself," he said, glancing at Mary.

"Very happily," Matthew said, squeezing Mary's hand gently.

"Are you still practising as a solicitor up in Yorkshire?" Reggie asked Matthew.

"Yes, I've been back at work for several months now, with the same firm I was with before the war."

"I'm glad. You're an excellent lawyer, my boy, and it would have been a shame if you'd turned into an aristocrat before you have to and given up working."

Mary felt strange hearing Reggie Swire call Matthew 'my boy' like her father did. It reminded her how close Matthew had been to becoming Reggie Swire's son-in-law instead of her father's, and the thought still had the power to frighten her, even now that she was married to Matthew and Lavinia was married to another man. The thought of going through life without Matthew as her husband was almost too awful to imagine.

Mary looked across the room as she thought, and was suddenly brought back to the present by the sight of the still angelic looking Lavinia walking across the room towards them, leading her bridegroom. Reggie followed her gaze and saw his daughter approaching.

"I'll leave you young people to talk in peace," he said, rising with some difficulty and coughing a little, before walking away just as Lavinia and James Ardleigh reached them.

The four of them looked at each other in silence for a minute, then James drew up two chairs for him and Lavinia and they sat down facing Matthew and Mary. Lavinia was the first to speak.

"I'm so glad you could come. I wasn't certain you would. Well, I suppose I should introduce you, although you all know who everyone is. Lady Mary and Mr Matthew Crawley, Mr James Ardleigh."

They shook hands, and the awkwardness lessened a little.

"Congratulations to you both," Mary said politely. James and Lavinia thanked her, and there was silence again.

"I believe you met my father, Mr Crawley," James said to Matthew after a while.

"Yes, I did, although it was a few years ago. I admire him greatly," Matthew replied, glad to have something to say.

"Thank you. It is true he was an excellent barrister."

"Was?" Matthew inquired. Was William Ardleigh dead?

"He passed away. Last year."

Matthew was suddenly very sad. "I'm very sorry," he said sincerely.

"Thank you. But…he died happy and without pain, and he was not young." James paused for a minute, then brightened a little.

"I've taken over much of his work. Some clients don't realise, and are disappointed to see the wrong Mr Ardleigh preparing to argue their case for them."

James laughed a little, and the other three joined in out of politeness. There was a few seconds silence.

"This is silly," Lavinia said suddenly. "We can't go on like this, pretending there's nothing awkward about this situation. I need to tell you both that if I could, I would forgive you for… what happened. But I can't, because there is nothing to forgive. You could not help loving each other, I could see that. I can see you are happy together in a way none of us would have been if we hadn't finally be honest with each other. And James, you know I loved Matthew, but I love you now, far more than I have ever loved before. Now we have got all of that out of the way, perhaps we can talk more freely."

It was indeed a great deal easier after Lavinia's honesty, and Matthew and James talked about work and the law as friends. Mary found she could converse with Lavinia easier than she had ever been able to, and they slipped quickly back into the friendship of sorts that they had shared before.

Lavinia and James didn't stay for long, however, as there were many other guests they had to talk to. Before she walked away though, Lavinia elicited a promise from Mary that she would write again.

Mary and Matthew stayed for a little longer at the reception, but Mary was rather bored, not knowing anyone, and Matthew was tired, so they left early.

* * *

"I'm happy for her," Mary said as she lay in Matthew's arms in bed later that night.

"As am I," Matthew replied then sighed heavily. "But Reggie Swire looked much worse than the last time I saw him. Lavinia always said he had a weak chest, and she was always going to visit him, but I didn't know he was that ill."

"I'm terribly sorry," Mary said quietly, knowing of Matthew's liking and admiration for the older man. "And I'm sorry about James's father too. Did you know him well?"

Matthew sighed. "No. But he was a good, kind man and a brilliant barrister."

After a few seconds silence, Mary asked,

"Are you glad we went?"

"Very. I am glad to see Lavinia settled and happy, and who knows if I'll see Reggie Swire again."

"I'm glad I got to meet him," Mary said.

They were silent again for a minute.

"Do you really think we'll find any evidence to help free Bates?" Mary asked quietly after a while.

"Honestly, I don't know. And I wish there was a way of doing this so you didn't have to talk to her. But I can't think of a better way."

"I'm nervous, but I would do anything for Anna, and to free a man I know is innocent. But I'm not sure that I am as good an actress as you think. What if she won't tell me anything, or won't speak to the police?"

"Then we are no worse off than we were before. And it will not be your fault. This is only our first attempt. There will be evidence out there somewhere, and we will find it. We still have tomorrow to go over everything, so we can leave it for then. For now, I have better plans for tonight."

"And what do those plans involve?" Mary asked coyly.

"All sorts of things," Matthew whispered, before kissing her, driving all thoughts of Bates and Mrs Bartlett from her mind.


	31. Chapter 31

Mary looked at the piece of paper in her hand to check the address one more time, then walked purposefully down the street. She had to push past lines and lines of washing to reach the house she sought, and endured the stares and loud comments of the women standing in the street, some of whom were hanging out their washing, while others were simply gossiping. It was like nowhere Mary had ever been before, but she was here for a purpose, and she didn't have time to be nervous.

She reached the right house, and saw a middle aged woman standing outside, whom she assumed must be Mrs Audrey Bartlett.

"Mrs Bartlett?" she asked.

"Who wants to know?" the woman replied suspiciously.

"Lady Mary Crawley. We agreed to meet."

Mrs Bartlett studied Mary for a few seconds.

"I didn't expect you to turn up. Expect this is your first time in a part of London where real people live, isn't it."

Mary didn't know how to reply to the remark, which she supposed was in one way perfectly true, so she ignored it and simply watched Mrs Bartlett with raised eyebrows.

"I suppose you'd better come inside," Mrs Bartlett said after a few seconds. She gestured for Mary to precede her through the open door. Mary looked around the small kitchen she found herself in and saw that it was similar in many ways to the kitchens in the cottages on the estate; this may be the first time she had seen where 'real' Londoners lived, but she had been in and out of tenants' cottages since she had been a child, and she was perfectly at ease here. Or she would have been if this meeting wasn't so important.

Mrs Bartlett offered her tea, and she accepted politely, thinking carefully about what she was going to say. She had already discussed it in great length with Matthew and Anna, but it was reassuring to go over it again. By the time Mrs Bartlett set her cup of tea down in front of her, then sat down herself, Mary was ready, and her old emotionless mask was in place.

"Thank you for agreeing to see me, Mrs Bartlett," she began, her voice polite, but carefully detached and slightly haughty; she was acting the part of the woman she would have remained forever had she not met, loved and married Matthew. "I've brought the money; it's only fair you are rewarded for any assistance you can give."

Mrs Bartlett eyed Mary's handbag eagerly as Mary gestured towards it, indicating that this was where the promised money was.

Mary noticed. "It shall be yours after we have spoken." Her tone brooked no argument, and Mrs Bartlett found herself nodding reluctantly.

Mary sighed, as if it were very tiresome for her to have come all this way. "I won't take up much of your time, Mrs Bartlett, I simply have a few questions about Mrs Bates. As I communicated in my letter, my maid is married to Mr Bates, who is my father's valet. Both my maid and my father are convinced of Bates' innocence, and are desperate to have him released. Personally, I could hardly care less what happens to the man, and I have no opinion on his guilt or innocence. But my maid is becoming very tiresome and mournful about the whole thing, moaning about injustice and about new ideas she has to prove his innocence. My father is making a fool of himself by insisting on Bates' innocence, when most of Yorkshire sees him as a criminal. If I could just find satisfactory proof of either his innocence or guilt, they would both have to leave it and move on. So, I shall be very grateful if you would help."

Mary sipped her tea and looked bored. It was important that she did not betray how important this could be.

"I'm surprised a fancy lady like you would keep that trollop as your maid," Mrs Bartlett said. "A slut who tempted a man away from his wife, and now the wife of a murderer too."

Mary felt her temper rising and breathed carefully; she must not show her anger. But it was so very hard to hear her friend talked of in that manner when she knew Anna was none of those things. And the word 'slut' still made her shudder at the remembrance of Edith's calling her that back in 1914. But Bates' freedom may depend on her ability to control her emotions.

"Oh, I agree, but my father insisted we keep her on, and besides, she does my hair so well," she said flippantly.

Mrs Bartlett snorted. "Well, it's nothing to me who your maid is. Get on with it then, whatever you want to ask; I've got things to do."

Mary nodded. "Very well, I shall be quick. Did Mrs Bates ever say anything to suggest she was depressed, or unhappy?"

"Of course she was unhappy; her husband had left her and gone off with a trollop. He changed, you know, John Bates. Vera was scared of him at the end, and now we know she had good reason."

"It appears she did. When did you last see her, Mrs Bates, that is?" Mary asked. Her heart was pounding. This was the question that was most likely to give them useful evidence.

"It was the evening she died. I walked past her house, and her door was open, so I looked in. She was cooking, but she had to post a letter, so she walked me down the street. She said Bates was coming back later for his tea." Mrs Bartlett sighed and looked directly at Mary. "She was terrified. She was in a strange mood: jumpy, fearful, but determined."

 _Determined to commit suicide and ruin Bates and Anna's lives,_ Mary thought.

Mrs Bartlett continued, her voice thoughtful. "I remember she'd made pastry, and she was scrubbing it out of her nails like she didn't care if she took the skin off."

 _The arsenic,_ Mary thought. Vera Bates was scrubbing her nails to rid them of any trace of the poison she herself had put in the pastry. Oh, it was so well thought through, so clever and cruel and calculated. But she had to get Mrs Bartlett to continue.

"So after she posted this letter, she went home on her own?" she asked.

Mrs Bartlett sighed again, and Mary saw an expression of genuine sadness on the woman's face. "She did, poor soul, and I never saw her after. I can remember her now, walking away down the street. It was raining. No not raining, more like drizzle. And the gaslight seemed to catch the drops and made a sort of halo 'round her."

Mary almost laughed. She was so on edge, it didn't take much. But many years of disguising her feelings made it possible for her to look grave and sympathetic, as if she understood perfectly.

"When did you hear of her death?"

"The next day," Mrs Bartlett said bitterly. "So I knew it was Bates. When I heard the verdict I thought he'd swing." She paused and sniffed sadly. "And he would've if the country hadn't gone soft." She broke off and Mary saw tears in her eyes. Mary sipped her tea and waited for Mrs Bartlett to calm down.

"I can't say I agree with the death penalty," Mary said, "but murder is a terrible crime." What she said was true, but in this one instance, Mary wished that Vera Bates wasn't dead, so they could all have the satisfaction of seeing her hang. Because in effect, she had done her best to kill Bates, and had nearly succeeded.

Mary reached into her handbag and took out the envelope containing the money. She had had a hard time persuading good, honourable Matthew that money was required, but eventually he had seen that there was no reason Mrs Bartlett would help with no incentive to do so.

She pushed the envelope across the table. "There will be more once you have given your statement to the police. It will only take a few minutes, and you need only tell them what you have told me. I simply want my maid and my family to accept the truth, whatever it is. I don't think anything you said will make much difference, but I would be grateful if you would make the statement."

Mrs Bartlett took the money and pocketed it.

"Besides," Mary added, looking suddenly serious, "it is against the law to withhold evidence. So I would do as I suggest, if I were you. Thank you for the tea."

Mrs Bartlett looked at her suspiciously. "How much more money?"

"The same as is in that envelope. Double that if you do it now."

"Now?"

"Yes," Mary replied calmly. "I have a cab waiting not far away. We can ride together, and I shall wait outside. When you are done, you shall have the money, and the cab will bring you home. It is really very simple and very easy."

* * *

When Mary returned to Grantham House, she wore a triumphant smile. Mrs Bartlett had agreed to her terms, and had made the statement. Whether it would be of use or not, she did not know for certain, but it seemed likely. Murray had been informed, and it was up to him now to do whatever needed to be done next.

The butler told her that Matthew was in their bedroom, and she went straight there. She found him half sitting, half lying on the bed, with a mountain of pillows behind him, fast asleep. He had evidently fallen asleep without meaning to, as an open book lay next to him, and he was still dressed, although he had taken his jacket, waistcoat and tie off, and undone to top button of his shirt. Mary stood for several minutes, simply watching him. She loved it when he looked like this, so relaxed and casual, her Matthew, the Matthew the rest of the world didn't see. His blonde hair was messed up, as if he had been running his hand through it, a habit of his.

She went over to the bed and picked up the book. She was disappointed to see that it was some tedious law book. No wonder he had fallen asleep. She perched next to him on the bed and leaned over to kiss him. His eyes opened almost as soon as her lips touched his, and once he had got over being startled, he kissed her back almost hungrily. He pulled her to him, but she resisted, and he frowned.

"Later, Matthew," she said, smiling. It was nice to feel so wanted. "Aren't you going to ask about my important mission?"

Matthew suddenly remembered where she had been, and released her reluctantly. "Of course I want to hear. But I think Anna has a right to hear it at the same time. I suppose I'll have to get up, and dress properly."

"I think that since Anna sees you in my bed every morning, with your pyjamas on the floor, this won't shock her too much. I'll ring for her now. You see, there's very little point in getting up, darling, as you will only have to go back to bed afterwards so we can celebrate properly."

Matthew's eyes widened. "So there's something to celebrate?" he said hopefully.

"We're waiting for Anna, remember?" Mary said as she rang the bell.

Anna must have been waiting for them to ring, because they barely had time for a proper kiss before she knocked on the door.

"Come in," Mary called.

Anna entered, and looked at Mary hopefully.

"Sit down, Anna," Mary said, gesturing to a chair that was next to the bed. Anna walked slowly over to it and sat down, still watching Mary.

Mary smiled. "Mrs Bartlett has made her statement to the police, and Murray had been informed."

Anna's eyes lit up and her self-control disappeared. "What did she say? Was there anything that will prove John's innocence?"

"I'm not sure, but it sounded promising. She saw Mrs Bates the evening she died. She saw her cooking, then washing her hands after making the pastry. _Scrubbing_ her hands. Like she would do if there were traces of arsenic in the pastry under her nails. And she said something about the gaslight making a halo around her." Mary rolled her eyes.

Matthew's eyes widened as he suddenly remembered something. "So it was _evening_ when Mrs Bartlett saw Vera Bates cooking her pie? I mean, it must have been, for the gaslights to be lit."

"Yes," Mary replied, watching him curiously. He looked excited.

"So Mrs Bates made the pastry after Bates had gone home. I remember the train he said he took, and there are witnesses… This is it! This is the evidence we need. Bates was on the train back to Downton when Mrs Bates was cooking the pie. Bates couldn't have done it. This is enough to overturn the verdict, I'm sure of it," Matthew said, grinning broadly.

Mary turned her attention to Anna when she heard her give a choked cry. She went over to her and put her arms around her friend.

"Oh, I can't believe… I mean, this is really it, isn't it? I just… Oh John!" Anna sobbed, her body shaking as she poured out months of anxiety and grief.

"I don't know how long it will take, Anna," Matthew cautioned. "But I am certain that it won't be long. I must telephone Murray. Mary, can you give me a hand?"

Mary gave Anna a final squeeze, and went to help Matthew into his chair. He grimaced slightly as he tried to get comfortable; he had been sleeping in a rather awkward position. Mary helped him into his waistcoat and jacket, and handed him his tie. When he was presentable enough to leave the bedroom, he went to telephone Murray.

Mary went back to Anna and squeezed her hand. "This is what we have been hoping for, Anna. The police have her evidence. Murray will sort everything out, and Bates will be free."

Anna looked up through her tears. "Thank you. Thank you for everything, Mary. Thank you for persuading Mrs Bartlett to make her statement. Oh, how will I ever thank you enough?"

Mary was silent for a second, then she said quietly, "Anna, you helped me carry a dead body halfway across the house in the middle of the night. You helped me stay sane when Matthew was in France, and when he came back with Lavinia. You helped give me the confidence to tell him the truth about Mr Pamuk, and without that, I wouldn't be married. We do not need to measure who needs to thank whom the most. We are friends, and this is what true friends do; they help each other. And we are true friends, Anna. The rules of our world might dictate that we can't be, but we are. We are and we always will be. I have always hated rules."

* * *

The next few days were spent enjoying London. Responsibility for Bates' case had been relinquished to Murray, giving Mary and Matthew the freedom to spend their time as they wished. They walked in the parks, despite the cold weather. Mary went shopping with Rosamund and came back with more clothes and shoes and hats than she had brought with her in the first place. When Matthew pointed this out, she laughed and said,

"That's why I brought so few clothes with me, darling," she said, and Matthew kept quiet about the fact that her definition of 'so few clothes' was rather different to his.

But best of all was their freedom, being alone in the house. They could order dinner for when it suited them, and go to bed whenever they wanted to. They didn't have to dress for dinner unless they wanted to, and each day seemed to stretch out in front of them, full of promise and excitement.

Despite Matthew's initial reservations (he still hated the stares that always followed him because of his wheelchair), they managed to visit the British Museum with Anna and William, and Matthew found that it wasn't so bad in London; there were just so many people, nobody noticed them. At Matthew's suggestion, they wore their least noticeable clothes, so that although the fact that their clothes were well-tailored made it clear that they were wealthy, they did not stand out as being the future Earl and Countess of Grantham. They were simply Mr and Mrs Crawley and their friends having a day out.

They all found it liberating. Mary had never gone by the name 'Mrs Crawley' before, had never gone out in London without putting great effort into her outfit in case she saw someone she knew. Now, she could simply be herself, Matthew's wife, without any expectations about her behaviour being placed on her. Matthew was glad to see Mary relax and be herself in public, and he enjoyed having an ordinary day out, where the purpose of the day was to enjoy himself. Anna and William were treated as friends, not servants, and all four of them enjoyed being open about their friendship, instead of hiding it in public, and awkwardly using titles and surnames instead of names. Nobody here knew who they were, and so they could simply be themselves.

On their last evening, Mary and Matthew went for a walk in the park in front of the house. Although the wind was cold and it still felt like winter, the trees were bursting with tiny green buds and the violas and pansies and daffodils were in bloom and made the park cheerful.

Matthew felt extraordinarily contented and was wonderfully aware of Mary's presence behind him as she pushed his chair slowly around the park. He realised how bored with Downton Abbey he had been feeling before they came to London, how trapped. He loved the house, and could still hardly believe it would be his someday. But until they had come to London, he had been there for over a year, and the farthest he had travelled from it had been to York.

Now he felt rather sad to be leaving this life of freedom they had been living in London, and go back to Yorkshire. But at the same time, the week they had been away had been long enough that he had begun to miss the quiet and beauty of the Yorkshire countryside. The park was pleasant, but it was not the same as real countryside. He didn't know how he had ever lived in Manchester; the thought of waking up every morning, indefinitely, to see houses and buildings and cars was strange now, and rather depressing.

"Our last night of freedom," Mary said, echoing his thoughts.

"Yes," Matthew replied.

"It's strange. I always used to think I was least free in London. Oh, it was fun, going to parties and balls and the opera during the Season. But everything one did was regulated by some code that everyone was expected to know. The clothes, who one went with, what time. How many times it was acceptable to dance with one man at a ball…"

"I think we broke that rule at every ball during the Season before the war," Matthew broke in, smiling as he remembered the looks they were given when they danced almost every dance together every night. He remembered the delicate flush of her cheeks from all the twirling and waltzing, as he whirled her around the dancefloor, happier than he had ever been in his life before. He had been so hopeful, even buying the ring, certain that Mary would eventually accept. His mind strayed to what happened next, but he stopped himself. What did any of that matter now? Mary had that ring now. Perhaps he had finally placed it on her finger years later than they would both have wanted, but it mattered little now. They were together and they would stay together forever. This reminded Matthew of something.

"It's April soon," he said casually.

Mary looked at him, confused.

"Well it's March now, so of course it will be April soon. What is so significant about that?" Mary had realised halfway through her speech what he was talking about, but deciding it would be more fun to pretend not to.

"Oh, nothing particular, not this year. But I seem to remember something rather significant happening last April."

"Last April? I'm not sure I remember," Mary said, putting on a slightly exaggerated confused voice, so Matthew knew instantly that she was pretending.

"Oh, for goodness sake, it's our wedding anniversary!"

"Oh, how could I have forgotten?" Mary said, and finally allowed herself to laugh. Matthew delighted, as he always did, in Mary's open display of emotion, because it was so unusual, especially in a public place. He tilted his head back to look at her and watched as she repeatedly attempted to control herself, biting her lip and trying to look serious, then bursting into fresh peals of laughter.

She saw him watching her, and finally controlled herself enough to lean down and kiss him. He was wonderfully surprised at Mary showing her affection so openly in a park.

"A whole year together. I can hardly believe it," Mary said as she drew away, still laughing a little.

"The first year of many," Matthew said softly. "But this is our last night here, and we must make the most of it. Let's go to bed straight after dinner," Matthew suggested.

Mary didn't answer with words, but kissed the top of Matthew's head in answer and inhaled the wonderful scent of him. He correctly interpreted this as meaning 'yes'.

* * *

As they lay in bed after their lovemaking, Mary watched Matthew sleep, and worried about him. He had been coughing earlier, and he had looked rather pale, although that had all been forgotten in the heat of their desire for each other. She thought he was probably coming down with a cold. She was glad they were going home tomorrow; she didn't want to be here alone with Matthew unwell. She had lost some of the terror she had had in the early days of their marriage that he would get ill, or she had thought she had. Maybe that was all her concern was now, irrational fear and paranoia.

She reached out and felt his forehead. Was he hotter than usual, or was it just her overactive imagination, or the fact that the room was hot and the covers on the bed thick and warm? For the first time since her mother had been ill with Spanish Flu, she wished she had trained as a nurse during the war like Sybil. Sybil would know what to do in a situation like this, would be practical and able to trust herself, instead of being so uncertain.

She decided it probably was her imagination running away with her, and allowed herself to drift slowly into a fitful sleep.

* * *

They were sad to leave Grantham House when they left for the railway station the next morning, but Mary felt, as she always did, the excitement of returning to Downton, the only place that would ever feel like home.

By now, it was quite clear that Matthew did have a cold. He had a sore throat, and had been sniffling and coughing since they had woken up. He claimed to be alright, but Mary worried. A cold was unpleasant but trivial to any healthy person, but for Matthew, she knew it could be more dangerous. The last time he'd had a cold, Isobel had insisted he spend a couple of days in bed, and had called Dr Clarkson, although he had thankfully recovered quickly. Travelling was not likely to improve things, but somehow Mary felt as if everything would be better once they were back at Downton.

Matthew slept for most of the train journey home, but Mary found she couldn't relax. She was worried for Matthew, although she still could not be certain how justified her worry was. She tried to read, but found she couldn't concentrate. The lives of the characters in her novel seemed so much less important than her husband, and they seemed unrealistic and insignificant in the face of her worry and love for Matthew.

She spent the journey shifting about in her seat, picking her book up and putting it down again and looking worriedly at Matthew, who slept soundly, unaware of Mary's concern.

When they arrived, Mary hated to rouse him from his deep sleep. She leaned closer to him and kissed his neck. He groaned and opened his eyes, then coughed as he sat up straighter.

"I slept all the way?" he asked, surprised, when the coughing subsided.

"All the way, darling." Mary confirmed.

He moved to massage his back, which was painful after the long journey, but Mary got there first. He smiled at her as she gently massaged exactly where the pain was.

"Do you have any idea how good that feels?" he said.

"The look on your face is giving me some idea," she replied. "But I'm afraid you'll have to wait until we get home for more; we'll end up at the next station if we don't get off soon."

William appeared quickly, and they were soon in the car and heading back home.

Since they hadn't caught the first train that morning, it was late when they finally saw the welcoming light in the windows of the lodge. This always made Mary happy, going through the gate and knowing that in minutes, she would be able to see Downton Abbey, majestic in the flat parkland that surrounded it. Home.

To his surprise, Matthew found that he felt the same way. Downton Abbey had been his home for less than two years, and yet already, he felt as if he had always lived there.

Cora heard the car coming up the drive from where she was sitting in the drawing room, and went out to greet her daughter and son-in-law.

"Mary!" she said, smiling as Mary was handed out of the car by the chauffeur, looking as graceful and composed as always. "Did you have a good time?"

"Yes, thank you Mama," Mary replied, embracing her mother. "I'm sorry we're late, we slept late this morning and caught the later train."

Mary went around to the other side of the car to check that Matthew was alright. He was settled in his chair, but looked pale and weary.

"Matthew? Are you alright?" she asked.

"Fine," he replied shortly, his voice a little hoarse from coughing.

"You don't look or sound it," Mary said, going over to feel his forehead. "And you're hot."

"I've got a cold, that's all," he said irritably, and began to wheel himself towards the house. Mary followed him, her forehead creased in worry.

"I assume you won't want to change for dinner?" Cora asked them.

"No. We're rather tired, actually. Would you mind terribly if we just had something small in our sitting room?" Mary asked.

Cora smiled.

"I suspected you might say that. I'll have them bring you something warming. You can tell us about the wedding tomorrow."

The food was very welcome and as with all Mrs Patmore's food, delicious. Mary finished her bowl of stew quicker and with more relish than she would ever have done in company. Matthew also finished his quickly, but by the time he had, he looked ready to fall asleep right there, in his chair at the table.

"You're not well, darling. I think you ought to go to bed," Mary said, as a particularly violent coughing fit passed, leaving Matthew breathless. His acquiescence worried Mary more than the coughing; he usually denied being unwell if she suggested that he was.

Matthew could tell he was worrying her, but he didn't have the energy to pretend he was fine. He had been feeling awful since he had woken up that morning, and sleeping on the train hadn't made him any less tired. Swallowing hurt his sore throat, so dinner was not appealing as it usually was, and his head hurt too much for him to bother reading, so really, bed was the most sensible place to be.

He knew it was only a matter of time before Mary would begin to fuss properly, especially if he wasn't better in the morning, and Mother would be the same as soon as she saw him. He wished he could convince them not to worry; he only had a cold, for goodness sake. But while he hated to admit it, it was true that they had a fair reason to worry for him.

But no, he would be fine after a good night's sleep.

* * *

Matthew slept deeply that night, and in the morning, Mary was reluctant to rouse him. However, it was not good for him to sleep in the same position for too long, so she woke him gently and helped him turn onto his side, arranging pillows to support him.

"What time is it?" he muttered, still half asleep.

"It doesn't matter what time it is. You are staying in bed today, and I am calling your mother."

"Mary, I've got a cold. I'm fine. Mother will only fuss."

"I wasn't asking your opinion, I was stating facts. I can tell you're tired. Go back to sleep, darling."

Matthew wanted to protest, but he really was tired, and he had to admit he did not really feel up to rising any time soon. He didn't want everyone making a fuss like they had the last time he'd been unwell. He knew it was out of concern and love for him, but that didn't make it any less irritating. He couldn't stand being treated like an invalid.

Mary remained with him until he drifted back to sleep, then went straight to the hall to telephone Isobel. Isobel, as Mary had expected, was worried, and said she would walk up immediately. Mary was relieved there would be someone else who understood her worry. Then she went to find her parents and tell them that Matthew had a cold and would stay in bed. They looked vaguely sympathetic, but not worried; they didn't understand the possible complications that could occur, and Mary didn't enlighten them.

When Isobel arrived, Mary met her at the door.

"I hope you managed to persuade him to stay in bed," Isobel said briskly, marching already towards Mary and Matthew's rooms.

"He's asleep, or was ten minutes ago anyway," Mary replied.

"How long has he been ill?" asked Isobel.

"I think it started the day before yesterday, he was sniffling a bit then, but it was only yesterday he started to seem ill. He's been coughing," Mary informed her.

They entered the bedroom, which was still dark, with the curtains still closed. Isobel went over to the bed and looked down at her son. It seemed a shame to wake him when he seemed to be sleeping so peacefully, but she needed to see how he was. She touched his shoulder, and he groaned before opening his eyes. He blinked.

"Good morning Mother," he said resignedly. He began to push himself up in to a sitting position, but Isobel laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't bother sitting up. How are you feeling?"

"Oh, for goodness' sake, I've got a cold, not the plague. See, I'm even staying in bed. I'll be fine by tomorrow," Matthew said, exasperated. After he had finished speaking though, he coughed, and Isobel looked at him sharply, a worried frown creasing her forehead.

"I'm calling Dr Clarkson," she said decisively. Matthew didn't seem too unwell, but she didn't like the sound of his coughing, and it was certainly better to be over-cautious than the opposite.

Matthew sighed. He didn't want Dr Clarkson prodding and poking him about; it was bad enough enduring it when the doctor made his monthly visit to check on him. But knew there was nothing he could do to stop his mother when she had decided to do something.

Isobel went to the hall to the telephone, and Mary stayed with Matthew.

"Do you think you can go back to sleep, or shall I open the curtains?" she asked.

"I doubt there's much point trying to sleep. Clarkson will be here soon, I suppose, and I'll have to be awake then. Yes, let some light in."

Mary opened the curtains, then came to sit on the bed. She took in Matthew's frown, and smiled gently.

"I'm sorry for fussing, darling, and I know you didn't want your mother here. But we can't be too careful, and I love you far too much to ever let anything happen to you. I'm sure Clarkson will just prescribe bedrest for a few days, and I don't know about you, but I have little objection to being in bed with you for days on end."

"You know, I have no objection to that whatsoever, now you put it like that. Except I'm afraid I don't feel up to the sorts of things I suspect you have in mind. But Mary, you needn't worry about me, I'm not lying when I say I'm fine. We promised no more lies when we married, remember? Now, I would pull you down to kiss, but I don't want you to be ill too."

"Well, we slept together last night, and spent all of yesterday together, so I don't think there's much point worrying about me getting a cold. Anyway, that would be a small price to pay for a kiss from you, my darling," Mary said, and leaned down to kiss him.

* * *

Matthew looked frustrated as Dr Clarkson listened to his chest with the stethoscope, and Mary, sitting on the bed next to him, felt sorry for him. She knew how much he hated it. But she would not be able to relax until she was told that he was alright, until she knew he was not in danger. Because she knew a cold could quickly turn into pneumonia, and if that happened…

No, she wouldn't allow herself to think about that. She had told Matthew so many times not to talk about it. She needed to keep things in perspective. He had had a cold before and been fine. But then there was that cough. He hadn't coughed nearly so much last time he was ill.

Dr Clarkson sighed as he stood up straight. Mary helped Matthew put his pyjama shirt on properly again, then lie back against the pillows. When he was settled and comfortable, she kissed his forehead and looked expectantly at the doctor.

"Well?" she asked, trying to mask the concern in her voice.

"I don't like the cough," Clarkson replied, frowning at Matthew. "But you don't seem to have too a high temperature," he said. Matthew gave Mary a look which meant 'See? I'm fine.'

"Still, I think you ought to stay in bed and rest today. Eat plenty of healthy food, and drink plenty of water. I will come again tomorrow, but telephone if you wish me to come sooner, that is, if the coughing gets worse, or your temperature rises."

Mary nodded. She didn't know whether to be reassured or not. Clarkson didn't seem overly concerned, but neither had he said anything that quite put her mind at ease. She saw the doctor out, then read to Matthew for a while, but he was soon asleep again, and not wanting to disturb his rest, she went to read quietly in the sitting room next door, leaving the door ajar in case he needed her. Isobel had gone home to fetch some things, since she was going to stay the night, so Mary was alone.

With nobody to listen, she curled up on the sofa and allowed herself to bury her head in a cushion and let a small moan and a few tears escape and be absorbed by the cushion. Why was she such a mess? She was usually so good at keeping her composure and thinking rationally. But Matthew seemed to have the ability to take these capabilities away from her.

She jumped with fright as she felt a hand on her shoulder. She dropped the cushion and looked up to see her father's concerned face looking down at her.

"Mary? What's wrong?" he asked. Mary put her finger to her lips before answering and gestured towards the open bedroom door. Robert nodded and said again in a quieter voice, "I though he only had a cold. I know you're worried, but surely you don't need to be quite so distraught?"

Mary looked sadly up at her father's kind eyes. He simply didn't understand. Clearly nobody had explained that with Matthew, a cold _was_ something worth worrying about. What should she tell him? She didn't want him to worry like she was, but at the same time, he had to be made to understand.

"Sit down, Papa," she said quietly. Robert sat in an armchair. "It is true he only has a bad cold. But… oh, I promise you I am not worrying without reason," she continued. She sighed. "Did you ever wonder why, when so many officers passed through this house, with all sorts of horrific injuries, there was never anyone with injuries like Matthew's?"

Robert looked at her, perplexed. It had never crossed his mind, but now she said it, he did wonder.

"Well, it hardly matters whether you wondered or not," Mary continued, then stopped to calm herself and pluck up the courage to carry on. "You see, the reason there were no other officers here with spinal injuries as severe as Matthew's is that… well, they never made it here. That is, they never made it back from France or out of hospital." Mary looked at her father, willing him to understand without her having to put it into words. But a sort of fog of incomprehension was clouding Robert's brain, and he couldn't quite take in the meaning of what Mary was saying, only that it was not good.

Mary saw this, and sighed again before continuing. "They never made it here because they died before they ever were ready to move to a convalescent home. I know Matthew looks so strong and so well, and he is, or at least was until the last few days. But there are so many things that could go wrong. Infections, blood pressure problems, pressure sores, the list goes on and on. You see, Matthew has been incredibly lucky to have been so healthy so far. A cold might not be anything to worry about with anyone else, but I promise you, I am not overreacting. I don't say this to worry you, but you must understand. You see, anyone could get pneumonia because of a cold, but for Matthew, it's a lot more likely."

Robert stared at his daughter and to his surprise, saw her face blur a little, and realised his eyes were filling up. How had he not known? Why had nobody told him? He had thought when Matthew had recovered his strength, the danger was over and he could stop worrying. And all this time, Mary, Isobel and- who else? Sybil? - had known that there would never come a time when they could stop worrying. _Oh, my boy. Oh, Mary._

"So that's why you're so worried. I wondered why Isobel was staying the night," he said slowly. Mary watched him sadly, and though she might cry again, but pulled herself together.

"It's alright, Papa. I'm sorry to worry you. But you don't need to be overly concerned now. Dr Clarkson doesn't seem to be worried, and like I've told Matthew before, he's made it through eighteen months. There's no reason he shouldn't live for many more years." But even as she spoke positively, Mary could feel her eyes getting hot with tears. She stood up slowly and went over to her father. He rose at the same time, and he held out his arms to her. They held each other, both needing the other's strength to keep from falling apart.

Isobel found them like this when she entered the room a few minutes later. She didn't want to interrupt, and would have backed out quietly had Mary not heard her and looked up. Isobel saw from the redness around Mary's eyes that she had been crying, and had to struggle to compose herself. Robert turned around slowly and greeted Isobel as if nothing was wrong, although she could tell from his expression that something was different, that something was worrying him far more than he had been worried before. Mary must have told him why they were worried. Yes, that fitted with his expression of shock and loss. However, she did not want to talk about it now.

"Thank you for letting me stay, Robert," she said, more to give him something simple to say than for politeness, as she had thanked him already, and it wasn't as if he would ever have refused.

"Oh, don't thank me," he replied. "You know you're always welcome here. Now you must excuse me, I must go out and… I have to… I'll be back shortly," he said, and walked out quickly, hoping, but doubting, that Isobel hadn't noticed his strange behaviour. The thing was, he just couldn't stay in that room any longer. Whenever he was worried or sad, he needed to be outdoors, in the fresh air, looking out over the calming landscape of green fields and trees and farms.

He wandered out the back door, forgetting about his hat and coat for what must have been the first time since he was a boy. The weather was not warm, but he hardly noticed. The fast pace he walked at kept him warm enough, and he was barely aware of his surroundings anyway.

He walked away from the house, in no particular direction, and stopped after a while at the top of a small hill. He looked out across the estate, his estate, and tried to let the sight comfort him. But it didn't. _Matthew might never inherit all of this._ He had put the issue of the heir to the back of his mind, thinking that the time for worrying about it was far in the future. But what if… what if it wasn't so far in the future?

There was no answer, really. He was powerless to change anything.

He walked for a while longer, no more aware of the time than of the cold, or of the fact he had come out not dressed for the outdoors.

* * *

Matthew sighed wearily and stared up at the ceiling. He might have slept for a few minutes that night, or even a few hours, but it didn't feel like it, and in the darkness, there was no way to measure time. It felt as if he had been lying there for an age. He kept having violent coughing fits just as he was about to fall asleep, and that would wake him, so he could never quite drift off. He tried to keep quiet so as not to wake Mary, but he clearly wasn't succeeding, as she seemed to lean over and ask if he was alright every time he coughed.

He had insisted on sleeping in his dressing room so as not to disturb Mary, but she had just insisted that she sleep with him, and now they were both lying together in his three-quarter bed, meaning that they were less comfortable than they would have been in their usual bed.

He couldn't be certain whether she was asleep or awake at this moment. Her breathing was regular and calm and she wasn't moving, but in the darkness it was hard to tell.

He was hot under the thick winter bedcovers, but didn't want disturb Mary up taking them off. He felt awful. His chest hurt every time he breathed, and he never seemed quite able to catch his breath properly. And he felt so hot. He could feel that his forehead was sticky with sweat and his pyjamas were damp with it, sticking to his skin uncomfortably. Was it really just a bad cold? He couldn't ever remember feeling this ill with a cold before, but surely that was all it was?

Mary was certain that she had not had one minute of sleep that night. She winced every time Matthew coughed, and could hardly bear the sound of his laboured breathing. She might not know anything about medicine, but even so, she could be fairly certain that this was something more serious than a cold, whatever Matthew claimed, and whatever the doctor had said.

Perhaps she should get up and telephone Clarkson now. It was the middle of the night, but surely doctors were used to being called at any time of the day or night?

She was startled out of her thoughts as Matthew had another coughing fit. It lasted longer than the previous ones, and unable to bear it any longer, she put the light on and helped him sit up. She was fairly certain that this was what Sybil had done when one of the officers in the convalescent home had been coughing, and it did seem to make it easier for Matthew. When the fit passed, Matthew said anxiously,

"I'm sorry to wake you, darling. Why don't you go and sleep in your bed? You might get a few hours uninterrupted sleep in there."

"I am not leaving you like this. Matthew, I don't think this is just a cold. You're soaked in sweat and you've been coughing horribly all night. I should have telephoned Dr Clarkson before we went to bed."

"Oh, for goodness sake, Mary, don't fuss. I've got a cold, I'm not dying," Matthew said angrily, but the effort of speaking made him cough again and this made his words seem ridiculous.

"I think I ought to telephone him now," Mary said, moving to stand up, but Matthew held her arm.

"Mary, it's the middle of the night. I will not have you wake a man up in the middle of the night for nothing worse than a cold."

"Isobel then," Mary suggested. "She's only down the corridor, and she told me to wake her if I needed to."

"Do not wake Mother, Mary, please. She won't be having a good night's sleep if I know her, she'll be worrying too much. She needs what sleep she can get."

"Well I'm not going to get a good night's sleep with you coughing next to me all night. I'm worried about you darling."

"You don't need to be. I'll be fine in a couple of days. Really Mary, I don't want to disturb anyone's sleep without good reason, and this is not a good reason. Please, just try to sleep."

Mary was unconvinced, but since she had already been reluctant to wake anyone, it didn't take much to persuade her not to.

"Do you think you'll be alright if you lie down now?" she asked. Matthew nodded wearily and she helped him lie back on the pillows, even that small exertion making him slightly breathless again. Soon, he drifted off into a sleep that was really more like unconsciousness, exhausted from the long day and the coughing.

Mary lay awake for a long time afterwards, watching Matthew sleep and wondering if she should do something, and only finally fell asleep shortly before dawn.

She awoke when Anna came in to wake them. The first thing she noticed was the dampness of the sheets. How much must Matthew have been sweating for the sheets to be that damp, she wondered worriedly? She sat up and gently touched Matthew's shoulder to rouse him, but he barely stirred. Anna was opening the curtains, and the bright morning light was usually enough to wake Matthew on its own, but not this morning. She shook him gently and he groaned, moved a little, then seemed to go back to sleep.

"Matthew? Matthew, wake up darling. Matthew!" she said, her concern changing into something more like fear. Anna heard the fear in Mary's voice, and looked around to see what was wrong.

Finally, Matthew seemed to wake up properly, opening his eyes and trying to sit up. Mary helped him, but the effort made him cough, and the sound was almost painful to listen to. He was gasping for breath in between the coughs, and didn't seem to be able to stop. Mary held him, and Anna watched helplessly. When he finally stopped coughing, Mary looked at Anna with wide, frightened eyes.

"Anna, would you get some water please?" she said, trying to keep her voice calm, and managing so well it surprised even her. Anna disappeared without another word and returned quickly with a jug of water and a glass. Mary poured and held the glass to Matthew's dry lips. He managed a couple of sips before coughing again, but thankfully only once this time.

"Go and get Mrs Crawley," Mary said to Anna. Anna nodded and left the room again.

She returned quickly, since Isobel was staying in Matthew's old room on the ground floor, as it was the closest bedroom to Mary and Matthew's suite. Isobel was ahead of Anna and came in almost running. She was dressed, but had not yet put her hair up.

"Mary? Anna said…" she began as she went over to Matthew, but Mary interrupted her.

"I think we need to call Dr Clarkson. Now," she said.

"Matthew?" Isobel said, "Are you alright?"

"Mother," Matthew managed before he began to cough again. Isobel helped him sit straighter to ease the coughing. When he stopped coughing, he continued. "You don't think… you don't think it's pneumonia do you?" This had been his fear, however much he had told Mary not to worry. The truth was, he was terrified and felt so awful, he was almost certain he was right.

"Let's just wait for Dr Clarkson, Matthew," Isobel said, although she was thinking the same as her son.

* * *

Dr Clarkson straightened up and took his stethoscope out of his ears. Mary watched him anxiously, clutching Isobel's hand painfully tightly.

"I'm afraid you were right to be concerned, Lady Mary, Mrs Crawley. Pneumonia," he said gravely. Mary felt as if she were going to faint. She swayed a little on her feet, and sat down on the bed next to Matthew, taking his hand and squeezing it. This had been her fear for the past year. Every time Matthew had sneezed or coughed or sniffed, she had worried this might happen. And now it had. She looked at Isobel for some sort of reassurance, but although Isobel placed a hand on Mary's shoulder, she didn't look at her, and was looking instead at the doctor with her lips pressed together tightly, so they turned almost white.

Mary looked at Matthew and saw that his eyes were closed. That made sense; he had hardly slept the night before, and he had been struggling to stay awake as Dr Clarkson had examined him. And she was glad he wasn't listening to this conversation. She turned back to Dr Clarkson and looked at him imploringly.

"Will he be alright?" she asked quietly, frightened to hear the answer.

Dr Clarkson exchanged a look with Isobel and Mary felt left out of their understanding of what was going on. Dr Clarkson sighed before answering her.

"I must impress upon you the seriousness of his condition…" he began, but Mary broke in.

"But… will he be alright? Will he… live?" Her voice was a whisper by the last word. She felt Isobel's grip on her shoulder tighten.

Dr Clarkson looked down, frowning, and Mary felt her heart beating horribly hard and fast.

"I'm afraid it's impossible to say. Pneumonia is an unpredictable and serious illness. All I can say for certain is that every day, pneumonia kills men who were previously strong and healthy."

Mary gasped in fright. If pneumonia was dangerous enough to kill strong, healthy men, what chance did Matthew have?


	32. Chapter 32

_Pneumonia._ Matthew's eyes were closed, but he was aware of what was going on around him. He had heard everything Dr Clarkson had said. He had known, since last night really, whether he had admitted it to himself or not, that it was pneumonia. But hearing it made it so horribly real. He was frightened. He had been expecting something like this to happen since Dr Clarkson and Mother had explained everything about his condition to him, over a year ago now. He had been lucky to have been so healthy so long. But even so, he wasn't ready for this.

He began to drift in and out of consciousness. He could hear familiar voices, but they sounded strange and distant, as if they were coming from far away or through a wall. Was it Mary he could hear? And Mother?

He would have opened his eyes, but he was so tired, and the effort required seemed like too much for him. He would have slept, but he kept coughing uncontrollably, and he couldn't seem to get his breath properly. He felt as if he were drowning, and there was a horrible pain in his chest whenever he breathed in or out. Instead of sleeping, he kept losing consciousness, although when he woke up, he didn't feel in the least bit rested or less tired.

He had no idea how much time was passing. It could have been minutes or hours or days. It felt as if this horrible time would not end, that he would simply continue to lie there coughing and gasping for air for eternity.

* * *

Mary watched him, trying her best to stay calm and be helpful, rather than give in to the fear and panic that was threatening to overwhelm her. Dr Clarkson had given Isobel some medicine for Matthew, then left, saying there was very little they could do but keep him as comfortable as possible, try to keep his fever down and wait.

Mary had never been good at waiting. She was one of the most impatient people she knew, and she had always known this. And this waiting was the most agonized and horrible waiting of her life. Isobel told her what to do, but still she felt useless. She felt incompetent and pathetic in the face of Isobel's competence and proficiency. Isobel had retreated behind the shield of professionalism and objectivity that was necessary for doctors and nurses. This made Mary feel even more frightened and alone, as Isobel barely looked at or spoke to her, except to tell her what to do.

She wondered if Isobel blamed her for this. She certainly blamed herself. It had been her idea to go to London in the first place, and she had persuaded Matthew to go, despite the long journey and the risk of illness that came with being in a big city. She had known that Matthew wasn't well the day they came home, and yet she hadn't made the obvious decision to stay in London a few more days until he was recovered. Then, last night, he had been coughing so much and had been so obviously ill, and yet she hadn't wanted to wake anyone in the middle of the night, and had actually gone to sleep when it should have been obvious that she needed to wake Isobel. Yes, it was definitely her fault.

She refused all offers of refreshment except water. The mere thought of food made her feel ill. She had not left the dressing room since the night before except to go to the bathroom next door and to go to her bedroom to change, and in truth, it had not occurred to her to leave. Matthew needed her here. He was drifting in and out of consciousness, but when he was conscious, he seemed to be aware of what was going on and who was there. Mary knew that if she were unwell, she would want Matthew with her, so it was only right that she stay with him and be of whatever help she could. She was no more aware of the passing of time than Matthew was, and was surprised when she realised that it was dark outside.

Robert and Cora went in and out of the sitting room, after being banished from the bedroom by Isobel on account of the fact that they made it too crowded and were of no practical use.

Robert spent the evening alone there, wincing every time he heard Matthew's coughing. He could hardly believe this had happened so quickly. Yesterday, Matthew had had a cold, a common cold, such as everyone got in the winter. He had looked weary, but they had arrived back from London late the night before, and Robert had assumed it was tiredness from the journey. And now Matthew was lying next door, his life hanging in the balance, struggling audibly for each shallow breath.

When Matthew had come home injured, he had thought this unbearable anxiety would be over. He remembered the daily terror he had felt for the man he had come to see as a son during the war, and the relief when the war ended, and he knew no one need ever worry constantly about the men at the front again.

But now there was this. And it seemed worse even than the war. The war had been happening far away enough that despite all the ways it affected their life, the reality of the danger the soldiers had faced was nothing to the reality of Matthew's sudden and serious illness.

Eventually, he could stand it no longer and knocked on the bedroom door before entering without waiting for a response.

"How is he?" he asked Isobel desperately.

Isobel came over from where she had been standing by the bed and looked at him gravely.

"Not good. His temperature is still rising and he's getting tired from the struggling for breath…" Isobel managed, before the supressed emotion burst free and she began suddenly to sob. She struggled to control herself; what use would she be to anyone in this state? But she was so tired, physically and mentally. She had been trying to stay calm and professional all day, trying to remember everything she was ever taught or ever learned as a nurse.

But now, when she tried to explain what was going on to Robert, there was no avoiding the fact that her patient was not a stranger in a hospital ward whom she could go home and forget about. He was her son, her only child, and although she was doing what she could to save him, there was no way to know whether that would be enough. She tried to put it from her mind, but there had been so many cases of pneumonia she had treated when the patient died.

Robert looked at her helplessly. What could he say? He could hardly tell her it would be alright when she was the one who knew best whether it would be alright or not. His worry and pain paled to nothing compared with what Isobel must be feeling.

Another coughing fit distracted them. Isobel controlled herself and rushed to the bed, where Mary was already holding Matthew up, rubbing his back gently and murmuring reassuringly until the fit passed and she could lay him down again.

Mary looked up at Isobel, and frowning slightly, said,

"Get some sleep. You're exhausted, however hard you try not to be. I know you didn't sleep well last night. There's not much any of us can do anyway."

Isobel refused at first, but Robert, seeing gratefully that he could do something useful, persuaded her to sleep for a while, on the condition that Mary wake her if she was needed.

Isobel thought at first that there was no way she would be able to sleep at all. But almost as soon as she lay down and kicked her shoes off, she fell asleep.

Mary sat up alone with Matthew. Now there was nobody else to listen, she talked quietly to him, hoping desperately that he could hear her. She talked of all the happy times they had had together, continuing to speak calmly even when he coughed so violently it hurt her to listen to it.

"Mary?"

Mary started at the unexpected sound of Matthew's weak, croaky voice.

"Yes, my darling?" she said tenderly, reaching out to place the cold flannel on his hot forehead.

"I… want you… to know. I love you… so much… Until the last breath… leaves my body," he said, pausing often to try to catch his breath. It was true that he was hot and confused and feeling awful, but he needed Mary to know how much he loved her, needed her to know that even when he couldn't respond, he was listening to her and knew she was there. Everywhere hurt, and he was so very tired and speaking was taking a huge effort, but he knew he had to say this. Because he knew from how awful he felt, and Mary, his mother and Clarkson's expressions and worried voices, that however much Mary told him he was going to be fine, it wasn't true. People died of pneumonia.

Mary shuddered at the idea of Matthew's 'last breath'. She couldn't bear to think about it.

"Hush. I know, Matthew, I know. I love you too, so very much. And we're going to have so many happy years together. You're going to be alright, my darling. Just rest now, save your strength."

Mary felt her eyes getting hot with tears. But no, she wasn't going to cry, she had to stay calm and strong for Matthew.

Matthew was silent for a few minutes, concentrating on trying to breathe properly, trying to gather his confused thoughts.

"Mary?" he said, when he had gathered the strength to speak again. Mary, who thought he had fallen asleep again, looked at him quickly.

"I thought I told you to rest," she admonished gently.

"No. I have to… tell you. Now," he whispered. He paused to cough, and Mary helped him sit up a little to make it easier. He smiled gratefully at her when the fit had passed and he was laying back on the pillows again. It took him another minute before he could talk again. "Mary, you must promise me. If I… if I don't…"

Mary, who had begun to tremble at his words, interrupted. "No. No, you mustn't say that, you mustn't think like that. Please."

Matthew shook his head slightly, which turned out to be a bad idea, as it made him feel dizzy, and made his head hurt.

"I must. Please. Whatever happens, you must… live, Mary. Be happy. For me."

"No! I won't listen to this. I love you, Matthew. You are everything to me, everything. There is no life without you. So you must stop this... this nonsense, and get better. You're so strong, Matthew, you will be fine. You will. I know you will."

Matthew was about to tell her she couldn't possibly know, and tell her again that she must carry on living, whatever happened. But before he could speak, he coughed even harder than before, and when Mary went to wipe his mouth with a handkerchief, she was shocked and frightened to see blood on his lips, and she saw that there was a little of it sprayed on the bedcovers. Her heart almost seemed to stop beating as she panicked.

She almost ran to wake Isobel. Isobel didn't quite catch what Mary was telling her, so frightened was Mary that she couldn't seem to make her words form coherent sentences. But Isobel caught the terror and alarm in her voice and manner, and rose immediately, terrified.

"Mary?" Matthew called out weakly as they entered the room, and Mary ran over to him and clutched his limp and clammy hand.

"I'm here my darling, I'm here. I love you, I love you so much, Matthew. I won't leave you, I promise," she murmured softly. Matthew's eyes closed again. Mary looked worriedly up at Isobel. Isobel pressed her lips together tightly.

"It's not unusual," she said, gesturing to the blood. "I was expecting it. Don't concern yourself too much, it means very little."

Mary breathed a sigh of relief. She had thought he was dying, the bright red of the blood on the white sheets had been so frightening. But the sound of his laboured breathing reminded her that there was really very little to be relieved about.

"You ought to get some sleep too, Mary," Isobel said. "I'll stay with him."

"I can't. I promised him I'd stay. And there is no chance I could possibly sleep. No, I must stay with him," Mary said. And in truth, she did not feel in the least bit tired. She seemed to have lost all awareness of herself; all that mattered was Matthew, and he needed her here with him.

* * *

Dr Clarkson came again in the morning. He took Matthew's temperature and listened to his chest with his stethoscope.

"His temperature is still rising," he said, and Mary sat down on the bed, stroking Matthew's damp hair unconsciously.

"Is there nothing you can give him? Surely in 1920 there's something that can be done?" she said desperately.

"I'm afraid there is not. I have done all I can. Just ensure he is not dehydrated and try to keep him cool."

The doctor left again, and Mary felt even more worried than she had before. She tried to do as the doctor had told her, trying to get Matthew to sip a little water, but he couldn't seem to swallow much of it. She held a cool cloth to his forehead, but still his temperature continued to rise. By now, he was delirious, insensible of his surroundings, although Mary continued to talk to him, just in case he could hear her.

Isobel was the only one whom Mary thought could understand how she felt. Of course Robert and Cora were concerned, but even they couldn't understand the way her world seemed to be falling apart. There was no world beyond the room where Matthew was, and if the worst happened, there would be no world at all.

But she tried not to allow herself to think these thoughts. What use would she be if she did?

She refused to stray far from Matthew's side. She ate tiny meals in the sitting room, and slept in short snatches on the sofa; she just couldn't lie in their bed, were they had been so happy, while Matthew was fighting for his life next door. As the hours wore on, Matthew seemed to become more and more exhausted. He stopped moaning and muttering and tossing about in the bed from the fever, he seemed not to have the energy even for that. His coughing became weaker, and his gasps for air were less desperate. Mary had thought that there was nothing worse than the horrible coughing and gasping, but this new quietness was worse and more frightening.

* * *

The next morning, after Dr Clarkson had been and gone again, Anna came into the bedroom, where Mary was sitting stroking Matthew's hair and whispering to him while she tried to get him to sip some water from the glass she was holding to his lips.

"Mary? Telephone for you," Anna said gently.

Mary looked up, looking irritated and strained.

"As you can tell, I'm busy, Anna. Tell whoever it is that I can't talk to them now."

"Mary, it's Miss Swire," Anna said gently. "No, sorry, Mrs Ardleigh. She says it is important."

Mary looked up again, this time looking surprised. What could Lavinia want? She counted the days and frowned: Lavinia would still be on her honeymoon in Italy.

"Perhaps you should go, Mary dear," Isobel said. "I can take over, and you won't be long." She went over from her chair by the window to the bed, and gently took the glass from Mary's hand. Mary nodded, and kissed Matthew's hot forehead tenderly before standing up and following Anna out to the hall.

She picked up the telephone.

"Lavinia?" she said, trying to sound bright and friendly, not exhausted and worried, as she was.

"Hello Mary. I'm so sorry to call out of the blue like this, and probably to worry you by saying it's important, but I'm afraid it _is_ important."

Mary tried to focus on what Lavinia was saying, but it all seemed faintly unreal. All she could think of was Matthew, and she almost laughed at the idea that Lavinia thought she could possibly say anything that would worry her any more than she was already worried.

"Is everything alright, Lavinia? Aren't you in Italy with James?" she asked, confused. She was surprised to hear Lavinia sob suddenly. "Lavinia? What's wrong?" she asked, slowly paying more attention.

"We had to come home. My father… he's… he's very ill. The doctors say he won't get better." Lavinia broke off and Mary heard her crying.

"Oh Lavinia, I'm so sorry," she said, knowing that her words were inadequate, but not knowing what else she could say.

"I'm sorry for crying over the telephone like this. I mean, we've known he wouldn't have long. But he seemed alright at the wedding, and now…" Mary heard Lavinia take several deep breaths before continuing. "I know you've only just got home from London, but I know it would make my Father very happy if he could see Matthew again. They were such good friends, you know, that's how I got to know Matthew in the first place. My Father looked on Matthew as a son, more than he ever has done for James. I know it's a long journey, but do you think you could ask Matthew?"

Mary suddenly found herself crying. She had held her tears in for days, but she couldn't do it any longer, not with Lavinia talking as if they could just get on a train and go, and with the conversation being about death. She tried to control herself; she was in the hall, anyone might be listening, and she didn't want Lavinia to hear her crying. But she couldn't help it. The tears she had been holding back were suddenly flowing fast, and her shoulders were shaking.

"Mary?" Lavinia asked, clearly worried and confused; Mary had met Reggie Swire only once, it made little sense that she would cry now. "Mary, are you alright?"

Mary wiped her tears away with the back of her hand almost angrily, and took several deep breaths before answering.

"I… we can't come, Lavinia. I'm sorry. We can't. You see, Matthew…. he's…"

"Mary, what is it?" Lavinia asked, concern evident in her voice.

"He's got pneumonia," Mary said, her voice barely above a whisper. "He's so ill, Lavinia. He had a cold when we got back from London, and now… So you see, we can't come."

"What? But… is he going to be alright?" Lavinia asked worriedly.

"I don't know. I don't _know_. I'm so scared, Lavinia. I'm sorry, I know you're worried for your father, I just…"

"Oh Mary! I can't… Oh God, I can't believe… at the same time as Father…"

They both stopped talking, unable to think of anything to say to comfort each other, and unable to speak through their tears anyway. Mary clung to the telephone, forgetting where she was, forgetting everything except her overwhelming worry and fear. But somehow, it was a comfort to be connected to someone going through the same pain. Except, no, it wasn't the same. Reggie Swire was old, and from what Lavinia said, he was certain to die soon. She still refused to believe that Matthew wasn't going to make it. He had survived four years of war. Surely, s _urely,_ he could survive this?

"I must go now," Lavinia said after a while. Her voice was shaky, but clear. "Father is asking for me. Please, tell me how Matthew is doing, if anything changes. And Mary? It has helped, to talk to you. To talk to someone who knows… how I feel. James is wonderful, but he's not good with tears and grief and illness. Please, tell Matthew I hope, from the bottom of my heart, that he will be alright. I'll pray for him, and for you."

"It has helped me too, to talk to you. I'm sorry about your father, and I know Matthew would have come, if he could. I know he holds your father in great esteem. I will let you know how Matthew is doing, I promise. Goodbye, Lavinia."

"Goodbye. And Mary?"

"Yes?"

"You and Matthew are so strong together; you _will_ get through this. Goodbye."

"Thank you. Goodbye Lavinia."

Mary hung the telephone up again, and sat down on the chair next to it, trying to compose herself. Her worry and fear were no less than they had been before, but somehow, she felt lighter than before, and more ready to face the rest of the day. She carefully wiped away the last of her tears with her handkerchief and took several deep breaths. She stood up, and walked purposefully back to the bedroom.

* * *

That afternoon, Edith came over from Locksley. Cora had telephoned her to tell her what was happening, and although she wasn't sure how her presence could be of any use to anyone, she came anyway. She went straight to find Mary, knowing the state her sister was likely to be in.

When she saw Mary, she went over to embrace her properly for the first time in longer than either of the sisters could remember. Mary sank gratefully into her sister's arms, and at the unexpected kindness, her control slipped away again, and one or two tears escaped her eyes. They held each other for longer than Mary could remember holding anyone but Matthew.

Robert, Cora and Isobel all stared in shock as the sisters who had been at each other's throats for years looked for all the world like the best of friends.

 _If only Matthew could see this, he would be so pleased,_ Mary thought. But he wasn't seeing it. She pulled away from Edith to return to his side. Edith, understanding completely, went to sit in the sitting room, ready if she was needed, but not intruding or getting in the way.

* * *

Dr Clarkson came again in the evening, as he had done every day, and after seeing Matthew, he sounded even more worried than before. Mary looked him straight in the face as he told her that if the fever didn't break soon, there was little chance of Matthew surviving the night.

Mary felt as if the ground had disappeared from under her feet. Only a few days ago, she had been so terribly happy, looking forward to their anniversary and wondering at how happy and in love she was. And now everything she had was threatened, because what did she have without Matthew? 'Prepare yourselves' Dr Clarkson had said. But how could she prepare herself? If Matthew died, she would die too. She might go on breathing, but that was not life. There could be no life without Matthew for her.

Isobel watched as the emotions she was feeling were reflected on Mary's face. She remembered when Reginald had died all those years ago and she had thought she would never be happy again. But they had had so many happy years together, and then there had been Matthew to make her see that there was a life for her without Reggie. But Mary and Matthew had had less than a year together, and of course there were no children. They didn't deserve this. They deserved years of happiness, they deserved to grow old together.

If Matthew died, what was she? She was no longer a daughter or a wife, and now it was possible she would no longer be a mother. She tried not to despair yet; there was still hope. But as she listened to the weak wheezing of her son's breathing, she knew that there was very little hope. She went over and kissed Matthew's hot forehead, then left the room, although it tore her apart to do so. Mary needed to be alone with him.

Mary sighed with relief at Isobel's departure. She did need to be alone with Matthew, although she refused to believe that he would die. She lay down on the bed next to him and began to talk to him quietly.

"I love you so much, my darling. I love you more than I ever thought possible. Don't you dare leave me, Matthew Crawley, don't you dare leave me alone in the world. I shall never be happy unless you are with me. You make me a better person. I need you, Matthew. My world is nothing without you."

Matthew's chest rose and fell so slightly, it was almost impossible to see, and other than that, he was still. Mary willed him to show her somehow that he knew she was there, that he was listening.

"My darling, can you hear me? Please, please, if you can, just show me. Open your eyes, or squeeze my hand. Please," she continued, but Matthew didn't respond.

"It's only a few weeks until our anniversary. You can't leave me now Matthew, you can't. I love you."

She kissed his hand, pouring all her love into that one kiss. She longed for his mouth on hers, his tongue caressing hers. But she couldn't make it even more difficult than it already was for him to breathe, so she had to make do with his hand.

"You're not going to die, Matthew," she said when she drew away. "Don't you remember what I said at Christmas? You will live to be an old man and I to be an old woman and we will love each other for all those years that stretch out in front of us. All you have is keep breathing, in and out, and you'll be fine," she continued, although she was more trying to convince herself than Matthew.

The talk of Christmas reminded her of the necklace Matthew had given her as a gift. _'_ _You'll always have this to remind you of my love, whatever happens in the future.'_

As if she were in some sort of trance, without thinking, Mary went next door to her bedroom and went over to her jewellery box and took out the necklace. Even now, she was enthralled by its beauty. She put it on, struggling with the fastening at the back but managing eventually. She could almost feel the engravings on the metal on her skin, although she knew that that was impossible. She knew that it was ridiculous for her to be wearing such a valuable and beautiful necklace now, but what did it matter, really? What did anything matter, apart from Matthew?

As she looked at herself in the mirror she noticed the old photograph of Matthew she had placed in the corner of the mirror. It was the photograph she had treasured when he was away at war for four long years, and then for the months when he was home, but not hers to love. She picked it up and looked at him looking back at her.

She went back to Matthew, and feeling slightly ridiculous, as she had the times she had done this in the past, knelt next to his bed and placed the photograph on the bed in front of her. She clasped her hands together and closed her eyes, feeling tears spilling down her cheeks as she listened to Matthew's shallow, wheezing breathing.

"Please," she whispered, "Please God, if you are there, let him live. He made it through four years of war. He can't, he just _can't_ die now. I know I have not behaved perfectly throughout my life, I know this is my fault, I know I have no right to ask. But this isn't for me. He deserves to have a long, happy life. Please, please let him make it through the night. I would take his place if I could, I would do anything, _anything_. Please…"

Mary broke off as her silent tears turned to violent sobbing, making it impossible for her to speak. She leaned forwards and buried her face in the sheets to muffle the sound, and clutched the photograph tightly. She started when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up and saw Isobel slowly lowering herself so she was kneeling too.

"It's my fault, Isobel," Mary whispered. "I should have realised earlier, we shouldn't have travelled back from London, I should trained as a nurse in the war like Sybil, I…"

"No. No Mary, it is not your fault. We knew there was always the risk, and he has made it through eighteen months, which is the longest I've known a patient with injuries like his to live. I doubt travelling made much difference, and as for training as a nurse, well, I have decades of experience as a nurse, and there's nothing I can do. No, whatever happens, it is not your fault."

Mary was in no state to be reassured, continued to cry quietly.

Isobel stood up, then pulled Mary up. "Whoever you blame, all that matters now is for us to keep his temperature down and make sure he gets through the night. Dr Clarkson has all but given up on him, but I refuse to let my boy die like this. Despair will not help us. Now, go and fill the bowl with fresh cold water and find a clean cloth."

Mary meekly did as she was told.

And so began the longest night of their lives. The world shrank to the size of the dressing room, and time seemed to pass so slowly that every minute seemed like an hour. The only sound in the room was Matthew's laboured breathing and occasional weak coughing, and the occasional sound of splashing water when Mary rang out the cloth she was using to try to bring down Matthew's temperature.

As the night wore on, Matthew seemed to become increasingly weak, his breathing increasingly shallow. While she had managed to remain certain until now that he would make it, Mary began to doubt it. She felt herself sinking into despair. Her darling Matthew, the man she had loved for so many years, was slipping away from her, and there was nothing she could do.

Isobel watched Mary's face and saw that she was losing hope. The truth was, she was beginning to lose hope herself. She was suddenly two decades in the past, sitting by the bedside if her darling Reginald as his life slipped away before her very eyes. Then, as now, there had been nothing she could do. She was a nurse, and she had helped save the lives of so many strangers in her lifetime. But when it came to the two people she cared about most in the world, there was nothing she could do. Nothing.

Then, when she had lost the love of her life, she had had Matthew, and through him, his father had lived on. If she lost her son, she would have lost everyone.

"Is there really nothing else we can do?" Mary whispered.

"No. Only hope," Isobel replied, wishing she could give a different answer.

"You don't think he's going to make it, do you?"

Isobel closed her eyes for a moment before answering. "I don't know. But I agree with Dr Clarkson that if the fever doesn't break soon…"

Mary felt a tear fall down her cheek, followed by another, and then too many to count. She wasn't ready for this. She had known there was always the danger of this happening, that they had been lucky to have had the time they had had. But she hadn't really faced the truth of it. How many times had she told Matthew that he would live for many more years? She had believed it, and had made him believe it, at least for a while. And yet she had never known, had she? She had been so sure, but Matthew had been right that the odds were against them. And now, she had to face the truth of what he had been trying to tell her for a year.

She suddenly thought of something, and opened the drawer of the bedside cabinet. Yes, there it was, their little good luck charm. She picked up the little dog and held it to her chest for a minute.

Isobel watched curiously.

"I recognise that. I'm sure I saw it on Matthew's bedside table when he was home on leave during the war, but I'm equally sure it's not one of the toys he had as a child."

Mary looked up and smiled weakly.

"I've had him always. He was my good luck charm. I gave him to Matthew the morning he left for the front after that first visit home, when he brought Lavinia in 1916. His train was so early, I was up before the servants. But I had to see him one more time. So I waited for him at the station, and brought this; he needed luck far more than I did. And he asked me to… to look after you and Lavinia if he didn't come back. And I kissed him, just on the cheek. But it meant so much, so very much. He kept it with him through all the years of war, and when he was injured, Sybil found it with his things. And we've had him with us ever since. He brought Matthew back to me once, maybe he can do it again."

Mary kissed the little dog, then gently took Matthew's hand and placed the dog in it. She closed Matthew's fingers over it.

"I don't know if you can hear me, my darling, but if you can, I want you to know that I love you. I love you, and my happiness depends on you staying with me. Because a life without you is not a life. So you see you must, you _must_ stay with me." She broke off. She couldn't go on, her voice simply wouldn't work. She clasped Matthew's hand in hers, and squeezed tightly. She had to let him know that she was there, that she would always be there.

Isobel watched, and felt her own eyes getting hot with tears. She remembered what it was to love like that.

"Matthew, if you can hear me, let me know, please," Mary continued.

As she had expected, there was no response. He really was slipping away from her. He was too tired, too weak, too sick. He wasn't going to make it. Mary closed her eyes. This was it, she knew it.

Then, she felt something. Just the slightest of movements against her palm. Matthew tightening his grasp on the little dog. Mary opened her eyes and stared at him. His eyes were still closed, his breathing still shallow, his skin still grey. But he had heard her. Never mind that he had moved before while he was unconscious, she knew that this was different. He was telling her not to give up hope. And in that moment, her certainty came back to her. It might be illogical; he was no better than he had been a minute ago. But something had changed. He was telling her not to give up on him, and she wouldn't. She never would.

Mary said nothing to Isobel, but the older woman noticed that something in Mary was different. She was no longer crying, and she was sitting straight backed, determined. Although she didn't know the cause, Isobel was somehow strengthened by Mary's new certainty.

Afterwards, Mary said that it was from that moment that Isobel, to her profound relief and astonishment, began to report that Matthew's temperature was falling. As the dawn began to break, Matthew seemed to go from unconsciousness into a more peaceful and restful sleep. Mary stretched out on the bed next to him and stroked his hair, pressing light kisses to his forehead every now and then.

It was when a nightingale began to sing, and a ray of weak sunlight broke through a gap in the curtains that Matthew began to stir. Isobel and Mary were both leaning over him immediately.

"Matthew?" Mary whispered softly, her heart buoyant with hope.

Matthew's eyes flickered open, startling her.

"Mary?" he whispered, then coughed at the effort. Mary let out a sob, and kissed him on the forehead, tears of relief and joy falling unchecked from her eyes.

"Mary," Matthew whispered again, smiling faintly.

"Yes, my darling. I'm here. I love you. You're going to be alright, darling, you're going to be fine. Rest now," Mary replied, still crying and hardly able to comprehend the good news. Matthew was going to be alright.

* * *

Dr Clarkson came again, expecting the worst, but finding Matthew sleeping peacefully, his fever gone. However, as always, he dampened the family's good spirits with his pessimism.

"He is not out of danger yet," he said seriously to the family, who were gathered in Mary and Matthew's sitting room. "The fever may be gone, but his lungs will be weak for weeks, possibly months, and he's so exhausted…"

Robert interrupted.

"But he's not in immediate danger, surely, if the fever is gone?" he asked.

Dr Clarkson frowned and shook his head. He detested people with little or no medical knowledge who seemed to think they knew anything about it.

"He is still very weak, and I don't like the sound of his chest," he said seriously.

Mary, however, wasn't really listening. Matthew was alive and he would get well, of that she was certain, despite the doctor's ill-omened talk. She felt herself relax for the first time since Matthew had first coughed. She managed to stay in her seat and look as if she were listening until Dr Clarkson went back into the bedroom. She followed him and went to sit on the bed beside Matthew as the doctor listened to his chest again and talked to Isobel about things she didn't quite understand.

When Dr Clarkson finally left, Isobel walked him to the door, and Mary was left alone with Matthew again. Robert and Cora had been told to stay outside, at least until Matthew woke up. Mary stroked his hair, curling strands around her fingers and massaging his head.

Matthew's eyes opened slowly and Mary smiled to see that beautiful, familiar blue. A shade that didn't exist on any colour chart: _Matthew_ blue. He smiled weakly back.

"I love you, Mary," he said, his voice hoarse but sincere.

"And I love you. You had us all terrified for you, you know. Don't you dare do that to me again," Mary said, holding his hand and squeezing it gently.

"It wasn't exactly… my choice," Matthew replied, before having to stop to catch his breath again.

"Hush, don't speak now. We have all the time in the world to speak when you are better."

Matthew nodded slightly and tried his best to breathe normally, despite the ever present sensation that he was drowning. He might be awake and aware of his surroundings, no longer delirious with fever, but he still felt awful. His memory of the past few days was a blur of coughing and pain, and Mary and Mother standing over him and people talking in hushed voices. He supposed he must have been very ill, judging by his weakness now and Mary's obvious relief.

With great effort, he turned his head to look at her, then blinked when he saw that she was wearing the necklace that he had given her for Christmas.

"You're wearing…" he began, then stopped to breathe, "…the necklace."

Mary smiled and reached out to stroke his cheek.

"Yes. I'd forgotten. I'm not sure why I put it on, but I did it without thinking somehow. I suppose I ought to take it off. I shouldn't be wearing something so valuable now."

"No," Matthew said, with more strength than he had said anything since he had woken up. Mary looked at him in surprise.

"I just… like to see you… wearing it," he said, uncertain himself why he wanted Mary to wear it now. But Mary smiled and seemed to understand.

"Alright, darling. On the condition you go to sleep," she said gently.

"I accept your condition," Matthew replied, and obediently closed his eyes. He was so exhausted, he was soon asleep.

* * *

He slept for most of the day, then awoke in the evening. Mary was still by his side, and her face lit up when she saw he was awake.

"Are you feeling stronger?" she asked.

"A little. I'm hungry. When did I last eat?"

"I'm not sure. Days ago. Isobel tried to get you to eat some broth, but…Well, anyway, I guessed you might be hungry when you woke up. Mrs Patmore has made soup. I'll ring," she said, and leaned over to the bell cord by the bed.

She helped him sit up, although the effort brought on a coughing fit that left him breathless and exhausted. When Anna brought in the food on a tray though, he ate all that was in the bowl, and looked rather better for it.

"I'm glad you didn't force calf's-foot jelly on me. I was half expecting it," he muttered, smiling.

Mary laughed. She was so happy, so relieved, everything made her laugh.

"We're not characters in a Victorian novel, darling. And I hate jelly. Now, you should sleep again. You look better for eating, but you still look exhausted."

"Considering I'm supposed to have been at death's door twenty-four hours ago, I'd say I'm doing alright. But yes, sleep sounds appealing."

"Will I disturb you if I sleep with you?"

"Of course not," Matthew assured her. Then he coughed and couldn't seem to stop. Mary felt suddenly worried again, but just as she was about to call for Isobel, the coughing stopped, and his breathing slowly returned to normal. After a minute, he smiled at her. "I think it will be me who will disturb you. And you look exhausted too. You haven't been sleeping, have you?"

"How could I? I was terrified for you."

"Well, you don't need to be anymore. Maybe you should sleep in your own bed."

"No. I'd only worry if you weren't next to me. I'll change, and then we can sleep together."

She went next door to her bedroom and changed into her nightdress without waiting for Anna. When she returned, Matthew was already asleep. She smiled, and climbed under the covers next to him, careful not to wake him, and was soon asleep.

* * *

It was mid-morning when Mary awoke. Matthew was awake, and Isobel was helping him turn onto his side. Mary yawned, and Isobel looked at her with a smile.

"I see you've had a good sleep. Good. You needed it."

Matthew sighed, frustrated. He was on his side facing away from Mary, and he wanted to see her face. Mary sat up and touched his shoulder.

"I'm getting up now. Once I'm dressed, I'll sit on the chair so we can see each other."

Matthew smiled and shook his head slightly. How did she always know?

When she was dressed, having had Anna do her hair properly for the first time in days, Mary went back to Matthew. She went to sit in the chair as she had promised, and leaned forwards to kiss his forehead.

"Are you up for seeing Papa? He's been terribly worried about you," she asked. Anna had told her that Robert was anxious to see Matthew, and she couldn't blame him.

"Of course. Although I'm in a bit of a state," he replied, thinking of his un-brushed hair and unwashed pyjamas.

"That's alright. It won't take long to change," Mary said.

It didn't take long for Matthew to be made presentable, and Isobel went to fetch Robert, giving him strict instructions not to tire Matthew out.

When Robert followed Isobel into the bedroom, they smiled to see Mary and Matthew sitting on the bed in each other's arms looking contented. They both blushed and looked away when they saw the door open. Mary stood up and straightened her dress self-consciously, but Robert and Isobel just smiled indulgently at them.

Robert sat down on the chair by the bed and looked awkward. He was struggling to control his facial expression, for Matthew's sake. It was just such a shock to see the man he saw as his son lying so helpless on the bed, looking so unwell. Robert was so used to seeing him strong and healthy and able to do most things for himself, it was unsettling to see him half sitting up, propped up by pillows, his legs stretched out so unnaturally straight. Coupled with what Mary had told him only a few days ago, and the fact that Matthew had so nearly died, this made it very difficult for Robert to smile. But for Matthew's sake, he tried.

Isobel and Mary left, closing the door behind them, but not going further than the next room. Robert continued to look at Matthew, and thought that he looked even worse than when he had come back from the war injured all those months ago. His skin was pale, almost grey, and there were dark circles under his eyes. His breathing was still not regular, and he wheezed at every breath in and out. But he was smiling slightly, and his blue eyes had some of their usual sparkle.

"You gave us quite a fright, my boy," Robert said eventually. "We thought for a while you might…" he trailed off, unsure how to finish his sentence.

"Yes. Well, I'm alright now. Or I will be," Matthew replied, and Robert relaxed a little.

"I owe you my thanks," Robert said awkwardly after a while.

"What? Why?" Matthew asked, puzzled as to what he could have done for Robert to be owed his thanks, considering he had been pretty much unconscious for days.

"Bates. Murray says he's going to be released next week, and it's thanks to you, Mary and Anna. I must admit I was sceptical about your plan, but it's worked. Murray says they have the evidence; it's only formalities creating a delay now. I never thought it would happen so quickly. Anna's over the moon."

Matthew closed his eyes and smiled. "Good. It's Mary you must thank though. She persuaded Mrs Bartlett to give her statement. And it was Anna who found her."

"Mary says it was you who made the plans though. And I have already thanked them."

When Robert was silent for a few seconds, Matthew opened his eyes and looked at him. Robert was frowning, and it was clear that something was bothering him.

"Robert?" he asked.

Robert sighed.

"That investment, in the Canadian Railway. The one you told me was not as safe as I thought. If I hadn't listened to you, all of the money would have gone."

"What?" Matthew said, trying to sit up straighter. "What happened?"

"The company's gone bankrupt. All the money that was still invested is gone. But thanks to you, that is only a quarter of what it would have been. It's a terrible loss, but I think we can survive it. I shudder to think what would have happened without your intervention. Truly, thank you."

Matthew stared at him, his tired brain still trying to comprehend what had happened. He had saved the estate. He could hardly believe it. The amount of money involved was so large, and the thought of how close they had come to losing it all…

"We would have lost Downton," Robert said gravely. "We would have had to sell and move somewhere smaller. I would have been the Earl who failed in his duty to the estate. I did fail. But you saved us. Thank you."

Matthew began to feel rather awkward with all the thanks he was receiving for simply talking sense to Robert.

"You did not fail, Robert," Matthew said, then paused to cough a little. Robert looked up at him, worried, but Matthew waved his concern away. He took a few deep breaths and continued. "You did not fail. How could you have known what would happen?"

"Murray told me. I should have listened. I was a fool."

"Perhaps it wasn't your wisest decision. But it's alright now, we need not talk about what might have happened. Do you think we can survive the loss we have sustained?" Matthew asked, practical and sensible as always, despite the fact that simply keeping his eyes open was taking considerable effort.

"Perhaps. But something will have to change. Downton is no longer safe as it was before. We might not be in imminent danger, but another loss would be impossible for the estate to bear. Perhaps… perhaps you could show me your plans for the estate. The ones I wasn't keen on listening to. Your judgement has been proven to be better than mine. But I suppose I ought not to be bothering you with this now. You look tired. I'll leave you to rest," Robert said, rising heavily from his chair. He reached out and awkwardly squeezed Matthew's hand.

"You have no idea how glad I am you're alright. I was so worried… but that doesn't matter now. Goodnight, my dear boy," he said, and left quickly.


	33. Chapter 33

It was over a week before Matthew was strong enough to get out of bed, even just to lie on the sofa. For the first few days, he had been so tired, he had spent most of every day sleeping. When he was awake, Mary read to him or talked to him, and he was content to simply lie down or sit propped up on the pillows and be with her. Mary could hardly bear to leave him for a minute, and ignored Cora's repeated requests that she join the family for dinner. She felt as if something terrible might happen to him if she left Matthew for any length of time, although she could see he was slowly recovering.

Soon though, Matthew became bored and frustrated at being stuck in bed. He would have done anything to be out in the fresh air rather than stuck in the warm bedroom. Being confined to his bed reminded him unpleasantly of the first weeks after he had come home injured, when he had spent every day lying in bed in the hospital, thinking of how hopeless his future would be. His future had turned out to be better than he could ever have imagined, but even so, being reminded of that time was not pleasant. Mary's company was pleasant as it always was, but even that couldn't make up for the boredom.

He took his frustration out on his mother, who was still staying at Downton and who was constantly fussing around him, driving him mad. Isobel, used to his sulking from many years of experience, simply ignored it.

Eventually, she decreed that he was well enough to lie on the sofa in the sitting room. It felt good to be out of bed, but it was hardly any better lying on the sofa.

"For goodness sake Mother, I only want to go out and breathe the fresh air for ten minutes. I'm well enough for that," Matthew said sulkily as Isobel fussed about with the cushions. Unfortunately, the vehemence with which he said this made him cough, much to his annoyance. Isobel looked at him sternly, but with some sympathy.

"I think you've just proved you're not," she said.

Mary, who was sitting on a chair at the end of the sofa stroking Matthew's hair, broke in.

"Darling, this is your first day out of bed. You'll be well enough to go out soon enough. Be sensible. You have to admit you're hardly ready for that yet."

Matthew frowned, but said nothing. It was true that it had taken a few minutes to stop coughing and get his breath back after being put in his chair and pushed to the sofa, and that sitting up suddenly or for too long still made him feel dizzy.

Mary looked at him sympathetically. She knew how much he hated being ill and how frustrating it was not to be able to do anything. He needed something to distract him from feeling sorry for himself. She had a sudden inspiration.

"Would you like a game of chess?" she asked. Matthew loved the game of strategy, and usually beat her, despite the fact that she was good player herself and had been able to win against her father, mother and sisters since she was thirteen. He would enjoy the game, and the winning.

Isobel looked uncertain.

"I'm not sure…" she began, but Matthew cut across her.

"Yes please Mary. And Mother, it's not my brain or my hands that aren't working properly, it's my lungs. I think I can manage a game of chess."

Mary went to fetch the board from the library, and was back with it quickly. She set it down on a table and moved the table to the sofa, then moved her chair so it was on the opposite side of the table from Matthew. She helped him sit up enough to play, propped up by a mountain of cushions, then sat down.

"You don't need to stay, Mother," Matthew said when Isobel looked as if she was going to sit down. She sighed and looked at him hard.

"Don't tire yourself out. You're recovering from a serious illness. Ring for William and go back to bed if you're in the least bit tired."

"For goodness sake, it's a game of chess. I'm fine," Matthew insisted.

Isobel sighed again and left the room.

* * *

"Checkmate," Matthew said smugly. Mary stared at the board in disbelief.

"What? How did you…?"

Matthew simply smiled in answer.

"Don't look so pleased with yourself," Mary said, looking away from Matthew's smug grin. She tried to scowl and look disappointed, but her mouth twitched and she let herself smile. As she had hoped, the game had cheered Matthew up a great deal, and in his victory, he looked better and healthier, with a faint pink colour in his cheeks.

"Jealous of my superior chess playing skills, are we My Lady?" he teased.

"Not jealous, no. It's not my fault I find it hard to concentrate on the game when you're sitting across from me. You have an unfair advantage."

"A weak excuse indeed, when I could argue that I find your presence equally distracting. Admit it, I am simply the better player."

"I never admit to things that aren't true. But since I lost, I may need something to cheer me up," she said, raising her eyebrows suggestively.

"Would a kiss suffice?" Matthew asked, reaching out a hand towards her.

"A kiss would be appropriate, yes," she said, moving to perch on the edge of the sofa. Matthew reached up and pulled her down to him, and they kissed on the lips for the first time in almost two weeks. Mary tried to draw away after a few seconds to let Matthew breathe, but he held her close to him for a little longer. When he finally released her, he was breathless but happy.

"I love you," he said, when he had got his breath back enough to speak.

"And I love you. But don't suffocate yourself trying to prove it."

Matthew laughed weakly.

"I'll try not to. But it's so difficult to stop once your lips are on mine…" he said, smiling.

"Well, unless you can restrain yourself, I shall have to keep my lips to myself until you're better."

"Don't you dare. You won't be able to resist. And anyway, I shall kiss you when you're asleep if you refuse to let me when you're awake."

"I shall make you sleep in your dressing room," Mary warned in a mock serious voice.

"You won't," Matthew said confidently. They had slept together even in the last few days when Matthew had been ill. He knew she would never actually go ahead with sleeping in separate beds.

Mary smiled sheepishly.

"I hate to admit it, but you're right. Alright, my lips are yours to do with what you wish, at your own risk. But please don't suffocate; I don't know how I'd explain it to your mother."

Matthew snorted with laughter then coughed a little.

"Come here," he said, and Mary lay down on the edge of the sofa next to him. She put her arms around him and smiled as he looked into her eyes lovingly. Then he kissed her again and Mary relaxed properly for the first time since Matthew had got ill. Nobody who was seriously unwell could possibly kiss this well…

* * *

Robert sat at his desk with his head in his hands and wondered what to do. There did not seem to be an option that was both considerate and practical. He was aware that he had been putting this decision off for long enough though. Murray had been going on about it for over a year now, and he had been putting it off and putting it off, unable to face the truth of the necessity of doing something.

He needed to ask Murray to find the next heir. Depending on what he found, it may be possible to do nothing further, but simply to have the information. But really, this was not a likely possibility. He hated the idea of bringing the next heir, whoever he may be, to Downton, as he had brought Matthew here; he could not even imagine how that would make his son-in-law feel, and it didn't take much to imagine Mary's fury.

But what Mary had told him would not leave his mind. Of course, he wished dearly that Matthew would live for many years, many decades yet. But from what Mary had said, it seemed that the business of finding the heir might be more urgent than he had previously thought. He did not want a man who knew nothing of the estate to inherit, and the only way to prevent this was to bring the man here and educate him.

But how heartless that would make him look. To bring a stranger here and teach him about the estate as if Matthew were not even there was just too much, despite the necessity. Yes, for now at least, he would simply discover the name, age and profession of the man, and act later.

He needed to telephone Murray, but he could not do that while everyone else was in the house; it would not be a conversation he would want to be overheard. Oh, why had he installed the telephone in the hall, where there was no such thing as a private conversation?

Then he had an idea. He remembered that there was another telephone in the house: the one in Carson's room downstairs. Yes, he would use that. He could close the door and ask not to be disturbed, and make the call in peace.

* * *

Mary hummed softly to herself as she walked back towards the house. She had been for a quick walk alone in the gardens after seeing Matthew settled back in bed, exhausted after his first few hours out of bed. She had sat with him until he fell asleep, which had taken all of a minute, then found her hat and coat and gone out to see the beautiful spring flowers. She had hardly left the house since they had arrived back from London, and it was nice to get some fresh air. She was happy and relaxed; Matthew was getting stronger every day and she no longer had to worry whether he would survive the night. She had been so frightened she might lose him, and now, it seemed all was well again.

As she looked at the new buds on all the trees and flowers, she thought about the future. Although she did not wish to even allow herself to hope, there was the possibility they might have children. Even now, after knowing this since before Christmas, it hardly seemed real. She would not be disappointed if it did not happen; there were plenty of women who went years before having their first child, for no apparent reason, and she and Matthew certainly had a reason. Isobel had said they might need to be very patient. But if it did happen, it would be the most magical and miraculous thing…

But thinking like that wasn't sensible. The less she thought about it the better.

She was suddenly aware that although it was spring, it was still cold, and she had been out quite a while. She realised how cold she was, and realised her feet felt almost numb. She quickened her pace and headed for the back entrance; she had somehow got her boots horribly muddy, and didn't want to leave tracks all over the house; she would leave her boots downstairs for Anna to clean.

Being in the servants' part of the house awakened nostalgic memories of escaping down here as a small girl, usually looking for either cake or Carson. After removing her boots and handing them to a passing maid, she decided to pay a quick visit to Carson.

She guessed that at this time of day, he would most likely be in his Butler's Pantry, and accordingly headed in that direction. As she approached, though, she heard a voice that she recognised. It was not Carson's, however, but her father's. She was guessed immediately that he was using the telephone, and was about to turn around and find a servant to ask where Carson could be found, when she caught some of what Robert was saying.

"I want this done discreetly, Murray. Not a word to the man that he's the heir, I don't want my family knowing about this, and I haven't decided what to do yet." Robert was silent for a few seconds, and Mary guessed he was listening to Murray on the other end of the line. She did not wish to eavesdrop, but now she had heard that much, she had to know whether the conversation was indeed about what she guessed it was about.

"Yes, I know what I ought to do, Murray, and I will do in time. Just not yet. Just find out who he is and telephone me when you have the details." Mary heard her father put the telephone down and sigh. She didn't know what to do. There was a small chance she had misunderstood, and she didn't want to be found listening in on a conversation that was private enough to warrant her father's use of the downstairs telephone. But she could think of no other explanation than the one she had guessed immediately. She stood still, feeling frozen in indecision and shock. The idea that her father might have gone behind all their backs and began to search for the next heir hurt more than she had ever imagined it would, despite knowing that it would have to be done some day.

Unless… But no, her father didn't know that there was the small possibility of children, and she and Matthew had decided to tell the family if she ever got pregnant, and not before.

Before she had a chance to do anything, Robert came out of the room and started when he saw her standing there. He turned bright red, then deathly pale, and he didn't dare meet Mary's eye. They began to walk upstairs.

"Mary. What are you doing down here?" he asked in a falsely bright voice. _How much had she heard?_

"I went for a walk, and though it best to come in this way to avoid creating a mess upstairs. Then I thought I'd come and see Carson, then I heard your voice." Mary said this calmly, but she too was avoiding eye contact. She said nothing until they were upstairs, then led her father into the library. When the door was shut behind them, she suddenly lost her self-control and cried, "Oh Papa, how could you? Tell me I have misunderstood, please, tell me you're not asking Murray to secretly search for the next heir?"

Robert was silent. It was one thing doing things discreetly, he told himself, that was perfectly justifiable. But he couldn't lie outright to Mary, not when she had already guessed the truth.

Mary knew only too well what his silence meant.

"I'm right. You weren't going to tell us, were you? You were going to secretly find this man, whoever he is, and possibly meet him, get to know him, without mentioning anything to us. I though you loved Matthew, I thought you cared about his feelings," she said, the fire gone from her voice, leaving only disappointment and emptiness.

Robert began to wonder if he had done the right thing in concealing his actions from the rest of the family, especially Matthew.

"Of course I love Matthew! It is because I love him that I didn't wish him to know about this. But Mary, you must see it is necessary? I though before that we had plenty of time, that you and Matthew could deal with the issue in the future, after I'm gone. But after the events of recent weeks, you must see there is a new urgency?" he implored.

"I can't bear it that you are planning for Matthew's death!" Mary cried, hot, angry tears spilling from her eyes and rolling down her cheeks. "He is recovering, he will be alright. I refuse even to contemplate what you are suggesting. Matthew is going to live to grow old with me. He is strong and stubborn, and so am I. We will deal with the issue of the heir when we see fit."

Robert was unsure what to do. He felt that he probably ought to comfort his daughter, but she was not in the sort of mood in which she was likely to appreciate or welcome his comforting words or embrace. And what was worse was that he knew she was right; he should never have made the decision alone and sneaked around, telephoning in secret.

"But Mary," he began softly, "you told me…"

"I know what I told you, and it's true. But I refuse to allow him to die, and I always get my own way. And even if you were right to do something about at least discovering who the heir is, you were wrong to do it secretly; Matthew is not a fool, he would understand and would want to be involved in such discussions. He has a _right_ to be involved. If you insist on continuing with your inquiries, I insist you inform him and ask his opinion."

Robert was silent for a minute, then nodded. "You are right Mary, of course you are. I have acted stupidly, I see that now. When he is well again, when he is ready to deal with it, I will tell him. Surely in the meantime it is not unreasonable to allow Murray to continue?"

Mary drew her lips together tightly and closed her eyes for a second. She was torn between wanting Matthew to know everything now, and knowing that he needed time to recover without worrying about this.

"Very well Papa. But do not wait long to tell him. And in future, please try to be fairer and more understanding. You are not the only one who cares about the estate." With that, Mary turned her back on Robert and marched out of the room.

She stood in the hall for a few seconds, unsure where to go or what to do. She wanted to go to Matthew and let him hold and comfort her. But he needed his sleep, and besides, she wanted her father to be the one to tell Matthew what he had done, and she knew there was no way she would be able to keep the reason she was so upset secret from him if she saw him now.

The she remembered why she had been near the butler's pantry in the first place: to see Carson. She went downstairs to find him.

He was in his pantry, checking some book full of notes and figures, all written in his neat, careful handwriting. He looked up and smiled when he saw who was there.

"Lady Mary, what can I do for you?" he asked, his smile faltering a little when he saw how upset she looked.

"Oh Carson," she said shakily. "Do you remember when I was a child, I used to come down here to cry in secret, and you would never ask questions I didn't want to answer? May I… could I do that again?" she asked, then burst into tears.

Carson stood up, the accounts forgotten; Lady Mary needed him, and he would do all he could to help her. He went over to where she was standing in the middle of the room and put his arms around her in a fatherly embrace. It was strange to do this now; Lady Mary had not needed comforting in the months since she had married Mr Crawley, she had been so happy. Carson couldn't be certain what was making her so upset now, and clearly she didn't want to tell him.

After a minute or so, Mary's tears slowly dried up, and she took a deep breath and raised her head from Carson's shoulder.

"Would you like some hot cocoa, my lady, as you always did when you were a child?" Carson asked quietly when he judged that she would be able to speak again.

Mary managed a weak smile. "Yes please, Carson."

The butler left the room to make the cocoa, and Mary sat down heavily on a chair. She would make her father tell Matthew, or abandon his plotting. She knew she had made him doubt what he had done, and that was a start. It would be alright. And Matthew was not going to die. If he could make it through pneumonia, he could make it through anything, she would make sure of that.

* * *

 _Mary woke up and was gripped immediately by the sense that something was wrong. From the way the light was streaming through the windows, it appeared to be mid-morning. She sat up slowly, a sense of foreboding making her heart beat too fast._

 _Where was Matthew? She never woke up without him being there, but his pillows looked as if they hadn't been slept on. Where was he?_

 _She got up and walked over to the mirror, then frowned when she saw that her nightdress was black. Why black? She didn't think she owned a black nightdress. Usually, she wore white for bed; she always had done. The only exception was a dark red nightdress she had bought in London, lacy and short and sheer; not very practical and solely for Matthew's benefit._

 _Where was Matthew? Maybe he was already up, maybe everyone was eating breakfast._

 _She made her way slowly down the corridor, and then walked faster as she heard voices, talking and laughing. The sound was coming from the library. She reached the door and opened it._

 _The family were gathered in a circle near the fire, and nobody noticed she had come in. It was odd; they were all wearing black, as if it were a funeral, and yet they were all laughing as if it were a party. But Matthew wasn't there._

 _She cleared her throat loudly and asked, "Where's Matthew? What's going on?"_

 _Everyone turned to look at her._

 _"_ _Ah, Mary, just in time; have a drink," her father said, offering her a glass of champagne._

 _She shook her head, confused. "What are we celebrating?"_

 _"_ _You didn't know? Goodness, Mary, you're behind the times," Edith said, smiling gleefully._

 _"_ _Know what? Where's Matthew? What's going on?"_

 _"_ _Why, we're celebrating the arrival of the new heir," Robert said. He turned around and said to someone else Mary couldn't see, "Come and say hello to Mary, my dear boy."_

 _Mary came forwards to see who her father was talking to, the gasped when she saw him. Patrick Gordon, the man who had claimed to be Patrick Crawley, then disappeared without a trace. Yet here he was again, and Papa was calling him 'my dear boy'. The foreboding she felt turned to fear._

 _"_ _Papa, where is Matthew?" she asked urgently._

 _Everyone stared at her in silence. Then Cora came forwards reached out for Mary's hand._

 _"_ _Mary, my dear, I'm so sorry…"_

 _"_ _No," Mary whispered. "No, you can't mean…"_

 _The silence was answer enough. Mary felt as if her heart had stopped beating. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't think, she couldn't take it all in. They were all wearing black, Patrick Gordon was here, and they were 'so sorry'…_

 _"_ _No," she whispered again. "No, no, it can't be true, there must be a mistake, he must…"_

 _Patrick Gordon stepped forwards and took her hand. She stared at him, his bandaged face as unrecognisable as it had been in 1918. He was not Patrick Crawley, she knew he wasn't. He looked at her with what she thought was sympathy, although the bandages made it hard to tell._

 _"_ _Mary, my dear, it's alright. I am the heir now, I will take care of you. You can marry me, as you were always supposed to. You will be the Countess of Grantham, and I will be the Earl, and we will have a nursery full of children."_

 _"_ _No. You're not Patrick. I can't marry you. I am married to Matthew," Mary pleaded._

 _Robert stepped forwards and placed his hand on Patrick's shoulder. "We all knew Matthew wouldn't live, Mary. It's better this way; you will still be Countess, and you and Patrick can give Downton an heir. I'm very sorry, but we must move on."_

 _Matthew is dead, Mary thought. He's dead, and they think I can move on. I can't. I never will. I am dead myself. The world went black, and then she was falling, falling, falling…_

Mary awoke with a start, and realised that she was crying. Matthew…

She breathed a deep sigh of relief. Matthew was snoring quietly next to her. He was here. He was alive. It was only a dream. He had made it. He wasn't going to leave her.

And Papa would never behave like he had in the dream. He had done what he had done because he had thought it best. He _did_ love Matthew, and he _would_ do the right thing and tell everyone the truth about what he had hoped to keep secret.

And perhaps it would never be a problem. Perhaps there would be an heir one day. Isobel had said they might need to be very patient, so she was not worried that nothing had happened yet. It seemed perfectly possible that she might be a mother one day.

And yet how little that mattered compared with the wonderful fact that Matthew was here, lying next to her, fast asleep and recovering well. Let the future bring whatever trials it would bring; they would get through them together.

"I love you," she whispered. Everything was going to be alright. She shifted closer to him, closed her eyes, and was soon asleep, dreaming of far more pleasant things.


	34. Chapter 34

The family and staff waited outside the front door, as they always did to greet an important guest. It was early in the morning, but this particular arrival merited Cora and Mary's rising in time to take breakfast with the men and be ready to wait outside.

The car came down the drive and stopped in front of the door. The door opened and Anna stepped out, beaming with pure joy, and after her came Bates. He stepped out of the car slowly, taking in the assembled family and staff with surprise. He couldn't believe they were all waiting just for him, just a valet.

"You didn't tell me to expect this," he whispered to Anna.

"I didn't know," she whispered back.

Lord Grantham gave up waiting and rushed over to Bates and shook his hand heartily.

"My dear fellow, you have no idea how glad we are you are home!" he said happily.

"I doubt you're any gladder than I am, My Lord!" Bates replied, shaking Lord Grantham's hand with equal enthusiasm. "I'm very grateful, My Lord, but all of this wasn't necessary," he said, gesturing to everyone standing waiting to greet him.

"I assure you it was. You have no idea how much we have missed and worried about you," Lord Grantham replied. "Though none of us so much as Anna," he added, smiling kindly at Anna, who blushed slightly.

It took a while to shake hands with and greet everyone, and Bates did it in rather a daze. He was glad to see everyone again after such a long time away, but in truth, it was all rather overwhelming. He had been in prison for so long, the world outside still seemed vaguely unreal. He wanted to be alone with Anna, to accustom himself to ordinary life again, and to show his wife just how much he had missed her. But first he had to greet everyone. He was amazed how pleased everyone seemed to be to see him; it was touching to realise how many friends he had after spending months in the company of unfriendly and violent criminals.

The only two faces who were not smiling broadly were those of O'Brien and Thomas. Thomas was burning with jealousy. He had been His Lordship's valet for months, and he knew he had done a good job. But Mr Bates only had to come home, and he immediately had his old job back. It was unfair. Thomas would be instantly demoted back to being a footman, he was sure of it, with that insufferable nephew of Miss O'Brien's. What stung even more was that William, who had always been second footman to him, was valet to the future Earl of Grantham for no reason other than that he and Mr Matthew had fought together in the war. And that was only because Lord Grantham had arranged it.

He scowled as Bates approached him.

"Welcome home, Mr Bates," he drawled. "Come to steal my job back."

"Nice to see you, Thomas. And it has been my job for eight years. You were simply filling in while I was away," Bates said through gritted teeth. He had wanted to get off to a better start with Thomas, to get on with him better. Everything had been put into perspective by his months in prison, and his petty disputes with Thomas seemed so trivial. But it seemed Thomas was determined to be unfriendly. However, he refused to let this ruin his mood.

When he had greeted everyone, he and Anna went inside. Mary came after them.

"The room you had on your wedding night has been prepared for you," she informed them, smiling. "It will be yours until the cottage is ready. I meant to have the cottage ready for you to live in straight away, but, well, I've had other things to worry about in the past few weeks I'm afraid."

"Thank you, My Lady," Bates said. "And thank you for what you and Mr Crawley did to work for my release. I will be eternally grateful to you. And may I ask how Mr Crawley is? Anna said he has been unwell."

Mary smiled. "He is much better, thank you. He would like to speak with you, I think, after you and Anna have settled in. Will you come to our sitting room when you're ready? You don't need to hurry."

"Of course, My Lady," Bates replied. "Anna has told me everything you and Mr Crawley did; I will be glad to thank him."

Anna quickly led her husband upstairs. Mary watched them go through the door to the servants' stairs and smiled. Then she went back to her bedroom, to find Matthew sitting up in bed reading. He looked up and smiled brightly when she entered the room.

"How is Bates?" he asked immediately.

"Delighted to be home, and back with his wife," Mary replied, going to sit on the bed. "He's coming to speak to us when he's bathed, and, I expect, after he and Anna have… become reacquainted."

Matthew laughed. "He could be a while then. I know I would be." Then he looked seriously at Mary. "I want to get up. And dressed. I don't want to greet him like this."

Mary frowned. "Are you sure?"

"Certain. I feel much better today. And I was well enough to beat you at chess yesterday."

"Your mother won't approve."

"Mother is just being Mother; she can't help worrying. I'm a grown man, I don't have to do as she says. I mean it Mary, I do feel well enough."

Mary sighed, thought about it, then shrugged. "Alright. I'll ring for William. But you're going straight back to bed afterwards, and you're going to be the one to explain to Isobel why you're up." She leaned over to ring for William.

"Fine," Matthew said, pleased with how quickly Mary had agreed. Then he looked suddenly serious. "Actually, if Bates is going to be a while, there's something else I want to do. I want to telephone Reggie Swire. I want to talk to him before… before it's too late."

Mary squeezed his hand. She knew he was sad that they hadn't been able to go to London. She had telephoned Lavinia twice in the last week, to inform her of how Matthew was doing and to ask about Reggie, and both times Lavinia had reported that her father was weaker, but still alive.

"Of course you must. He will be glad to speak to you, I am sure. Lavinia too; she's been worried about you."

"I'm worried about her; she and Reggie are so close. They had to be; they only had each other after Lavinia's mother died. And losing one's father…" Matthew broke off, unable to continue as his thoughts turned to his own father. Mary put her arms around him, offering what comfort she could. She couldn't even contemplate losing Papa.

By the time William came, Matthew had composed himself. It took a while to get dressed, and William had to do most of it, but when he was dressed and shaved and sitting in his chair, Matthew felt wonderful. For the first time in what seemed like ages, he didn't feel like an invalid. Yes, he was tired and weak, but he felt like himself.

When Mary had pushed him to the telephone though, he felt suddenly nervous. What could he say to Lavinia that would help? What could he say to Reggie Swire, knowing it was likely to be their last conversation?

Mary massaged his shoulders as he waited to be put through to the Swires' house. She was glad to see him up and out of bed, looking more like himself, but she wished it were under better circumstances. It seemed so unfair that he had to deal with the death of the man who had so nearly been his father-in-law when he was only just beginning to recover himself.

She listened vaguely as Matthew greeted Lavinia, but decided to leave him in privacy to speak to Reggie Swire.

Matthew was glad she had left him without his having to ask her; he did need this last conversation to be private.

It took a few minutes for Lavinia to help her father to the telephone, and Matthew began to lose himself in memories of his own father, before being suddenly startled back to the present by Reggie's weak voice.

"Matthew, my boy?"

"Good morning, sir," Matthew replied. "How are you?"

"I am old and weak and dying. And I always told you to call me Reggie. What's more important is how are you? Lavinia wouldn't have told me you were ill, she didn't want to worry me, but when I asked about you she looked so worried, I knew there was something wrong and I made her tell me. You're better now?"

"I'm recovering, yes. I've been lucky. I would have come to see you if I could."

"I would not have asked it of you, but yes, I know you would." Reggie paused, seemingly to catch his breath. "I'm very glad you're going to be alright. The war took enough of your generation, and you're a good man, Matthew; you deserve to live a long and happy life with Mary."

"Are you afraid?" Matthew blurted out suddenly. "Of death, I mean? Because I was terrified. Every moment of every day during the war, and then again recently."

"It was right for you to be afraid; it was not your time to die; you are young, and have your life ahead of you. I am not afraid because I am old, and it is only natural. I have never had Lavinia's strong faith, but I hope to be reunited with my Catherine. I do not have a large family, or many friends left to grieve for me. Lavinia has her James now; he will take care of her, I am certain of that. So I can go peacefully to my grave."

"I will grieve for you," Matthew said quietly. "You are not my father-in-law, but I saw you as such for years. The hours I spent at your house were my happiest hours in all those years of war. I… I truly am sorry about what happened with Lavinia. I never meant to hurt her, and I did love her, truly. Just... not in the right way. I…"

"You don't need to explain yourself, or ask my forgiveness; you did nothing wrong, and you are all happy now. I wish you a happy life with Mary." Reggie paused again. "There's one more thing I wish to tell you; I have left you something in my will."

Matthew's eyes widened. "Really, there's no need…"

Reggie chuckled weakly. "I know there's no need; you're heir to an Earldom. I'm leaving you my books, Matthew, my collection. You remember I showed you, back in 1917?"

Matthew did remember. Reggie Swire had a small but impressive collection of rare and valuable books, first editions worth as much as the Swire's large London townhouse. "But… Lavinia? James?"

"No. You know how important my books are to me. I want them to go to someone who will appreciate them, and not just for their value. Lavinia, you know, pretended to be impressed for me, but only because she knew it mattered to me. James is a good man, but not interested in such things; he would see only the money they would fetch, or the value of them to Lavinia as something that was mine. No, I have thought about it, and they will go to you. You can add them to the collection in the library at Downton Abbey. I always wanted to see the library there.

"Now, I am afraid I am rather tired. I am glad to have spoken to you, my boy, and I am beyond glad that you are recovering. You will go far in life. Continue to work as a lawyer; you are good at it. I know you will make an admirable Earl even if I know nothing about it. Be fair to your tenants, and sensible with your investments. Make a difference when you take your place in the House of Lords; I always thought you would do well in politics. Fight to make a better world for the next generation, a world free from war and prejudice and injustice. I know you cannot have children of your own, but there are war orphans in need of loving families, and you would make a wonderful father if you wanted to. I wish you health, and luck, and joy; you deserve it. Goodbye, my very dear boy."

Matthew felt tears falling down his cheeks, and couldn't remember when he had started crying. "Goodbye, Reggie."

Reggie put down the telephone, and Matthew sat staring at the wall, until Mary came and gently took the telephone from his hands to put it back where it belonged. She stood behind him and hugged him tightly, letting him continue to cry silently. When he coughed, she didn't fuss, but simply rubbed his back gently. When he seemed ready, she pushed him back to their sitting room and positioned his chair so he was facing the sofa, then curled up on the sofa and looked at him, taking his hands in hers.

After a few minutes, Matthew looked up at her and gave a slight smile. "He's going to leave me his books. To add to the collection here."

Mary smiled sadly and squeezed his hand.

"He wished us a long and happy life together. And... he suggested we adopt a child. You know, if it turns out we can't have one of our own." Matthew sighed. "He was so… at peace. He isn't frightened of death. Somehow that makes it easier to know that he's dying. He hopes to be reunited with Catherine, his late wife. I don't know what I believe, but if it makes him happy… I'm so glad I got to speak to him."

"Good," Mary said quietly.

They sat in silence, until Mary remembered they didn't have all day.

"Bates will be here in a minute. Are you up to speaking to him? I'm sure he won't mind if you're not," she said gently.

Matthew shook his head. "No, I'll be alright in a minute. I'll be glad to see Bates after all this time."

"Then I think you could do with splashing your face with some cold water; your eyes are a bit red."

Mary pushed him through to the bathroom without waiting for his answer. Matthew looked at his reflection in the mirror above the sink and grimaced; he looked awful. He still looked pale and ill, and he'd lost weight. And Mary was right; his eyes were red, and it was obvious he had been crying. He did as she had suggested and splashed his face with cold water. It made him shiver, then cough.

Mary handed him a towel and he buried his face in it. He looked up at her after a minute, and seeing her expression of gentle concern, he gave her a quick half smile. "I'm alright, Mary. You don't need to worry about me."

"I know I don't need to. But I'm your wife; I can't help it, I'm afraid. I love you," she replied, running her hand through his hair.

"As I love you. Am I presentable now?"

Mary stood back and gave an exaggerated frown as she studied him. "You'll do."

They went back to the sitting room to wait for Bates. Although Mary had carefully positioned his chair the right distance from the fire, and had sat down on the sofa next to him, Matthew stared across the room and out the window, his thoughts on Reggie and on his own father. It was odd how they shared a name. It made it impossible to think of one without thinking of the other. Both of them such good men. But at least Reggie Swire had lived to be an old man, whereas his own father had died decades before his time. Although Reggie had known pain and heartbreak; the death of his wife in childbirth, the loss of his son, Lavinia's brother, only a few hours later.

When the knock on the door finally came, he was so startled, he jumped, and began to cough. Mary had already called 'come in', so Matthew had to endure Bates' presence as he tried to stop coughing and breathe normally again. When the coughing finally stopped, he looked up at Bates and smiled apologetically.

"I'm sorry Bates, not quite the 'welcome home' I had planned. I'm not quite at my best at the moment. But it's so good to see you home."

Bates smiled warmly. He was feeling a lot more at home after his time alone with Anna. "It's good to _be_ home, sir. And I believe it is you, along with Anna and Lady Mary, whom I have to thank for it."

Matthew turned slightly pink, a reaction that would not usually have been perceptible, but which was made obvious by the fact he was still paler than usual.

"I did very little; it is Anna and Mary who deserve your thanks. I merely-"

"Came up with the ideas," Mary finished for him. He never thought highly enough of himself in her opinion.

"I mean it, sir," Bates said sincerely. "I am very grateful to you, to all three of you. You have no idea what… well, I won't talk about it, but I am glad beyond measure to be free."

"You were wrongly imprisoned; you should never have been in prison in the first place. I am only sorry it took us so long to prove it," Matthew said. "And you and Anna have done so much for Mary and I. Of course we had to help you any way we could. I'm only sorry we didn't have the cottage ready for you. It's nearly there, I believe, but we haven't had time to supervise the final things that needed doing. It was supposed to be a welcome home gift."

"Knowing we will have a home of our own in the near future is gift enough, sir. And I understand your not having time, Anna told me you have been unwell; I am simply glad to know you are recovering. I am forever in your debt, and yours, my lady, and if you ever need anything, I will do anything I can to assist."

"I assure you, you are in nobody's debt, Bates. But thank you, all the same," Matthew said. "I _am_ glad to see you, Bates. But we mustn't keep you; I'm certain you must wish to be with your wife after such a long separation."

Bates smiled. "Thank you, sir, I do." He left quickly, and Mary and Matthew smiled at each other when he had gone.

* * *

Bates was soon settled back into his old routine of work, and thought that he had never been happier in his life. He had work, and would soon have his own home, and most importantly, he had the most wonderful woman in the world for his wife.

They moved into their little cottage a little over a week later. It was small and plain, and there was little furniture or decoration, but it was theirs. They wouldn't be able to spend much time there, with their duties up at the house, but they would have the nights and early mornings, and every day or half-day off. They were given several half days to decorate it, and had great fun painting and finding cheap furniture in second-hand shops. Lord Grantham had arranged for them to borrow a horse and trap to bring the furniture home, and the house was soon ready. And so they began their new life together.

* * *

Cora sat on the chaise longue in her room and frowned as she read her letter. They had almost forgotten about Sybil's pregnancy with the worry and concern for Matthew, but now, the birth was approaching and it was still not decided where Sybil would have the child. Tom, of course, wanted the baby to be born in Ireland, wanted it to be Irish. But Cora desperately wanted her first grandchild to be born at Downton. She wanted to be present at the birth and wanted Sybil to be attended by Dr Clarkson, since he had known her since she was a child.

Sybil wrote that she also secretly wanted the baby to be born at Downton, but that she was happy to have it in Ireland since that was what Tom wanted.

Surely there was some way of convincing Tom to allow Sybil to give birth at the place that had been her home for over two decades of her life? Surely if she wrote to him and stated her concerns about Sybil's health and the advantages of having a doctor that knew her, he would have to relent? The child would live in Ireland, be raised amongst Irish people. Surely it would not be the end of the world for it to be born in England?

She reached for a pen and paper and began to write the first letter she had ever written to her son-in-law.

* * *

Sybil was bored out of her mind. She had had to give up her job as a nurse when it became obvious that she was pregnant, and she still had few friends near where they lived. She had tried, and she thought that perhaps Tom's friends and the neighbours were beginning to accept her. But only beginning. She might be Mrs Branson now, but not everyone could forget that she had once been Lady Sybil Crawley. And they all either worked all day or looked after children, and had little time for visiting her, and by now, she wasn't in much of a state for visiting them.

So she sat alone in the flat, day after day, waiting for Tom to come home. She tried to read, and indeed, she got through more books than she had got through since her marriage, but that was not enough to keep her occupied all day. She looked after the flat, and cooked and cleaned, but although she was getting better at it, it was difficult now she was getting bigger and tired so easily. It was hard enough keeping the flat clean at the best of times, and she was beginning to fear she would never quite get the hang of cooking. Despite all of this though, she loved having new life growing inside her, and still got excited when the baby kicked, however uncomfortable it was.

But the letters from home were the most important events in her life. She smiled at her mother's concerns about running the household and was grateful for her advice about pregnancy. Mary and Edith's less frequent letters reminded her how much she had enjoyed their companionship without ever really thinking about it. She had always had two girls more or less her own age to talk to, who kept her company and supported her against her parents when she had done something rebellious and made them angry, as had happened quite frequently. The letters also reminded her how different a life her sisters were leading. They had all married for love, but this had meant completely different things for them. Edith was now Lady Strallen and mistress of her own house. Mary would have Downton Abbey on their father's death, and the countess' coronet she had coveted since she had been a child. And she, Sybil, was Mrs Branson, or Nurse Branson at the hospital.

And yet she was happy, as happy as her two sisters with their large houses and estates and titles. Even now, when she was bored and uncomfortable, she was living a life that was far more interesting than the life she had expected to live. She liked Ireland, and not just because Tom loved it so much. She loved living in a city, loved the excitement and life all around her. But most of all, she loved Tom, and the little child growing inside her that would make them a proper family.

Then had come the news that Matthew was dangerously ill. She had been terrified for him, and it was agony for her not to be able to help in any way. Mama had written that it was pneumonia, and Sybil's heart had dropped when she thought about all the cases of pneumonia she had treated where the patient had died. She had written to Mary, but writing was nothing compared to actually being there. And although it had not been long since Christmas, she missed home, although she hated to admit it even to herself.

She had been on the point of leaving Ireland and going home to help nurse her brother in law. She had known the state Mary would be in and she knew she could have been some help. But Tom had been against the idea, telling her she was pregnant and needed to look after her herself before she even considered anyone else. And she had known he was right. She was not much use to anyone now, with her stomach swelling more every day and the doctor's orders not to stay on her feet too long.

But when they got the happy news that Matthew was over the worst of it, the longing to go home did not go away. It was not that she regretted marrying Tom and living in Ireland. She was happy with her choices. She simply missed her home and her family. She didn't want to tell Tom this, however, in case he misunderstood, and though she was unhappy.

But one day, Tom came home from work and was unusually quiet and thoughtful. Sybil was almost unbearably curious, but waited for Tom to tell her what was on his mind. He did not mention whatever it was he was thinking about until they were in bed with the lights out.

"Sybil?" he began tentatively.

"Tom?"

"Do you want the baby to be born here, in Ireland?" he asked.

"Of course I do. That's what you want isn't it?" Sybil said, a little too quickly. Tom looked at her sharply in the darkness.

"I do. But do you, really? Would you not rather have it at Downton Abbey?" he asked.

Sybil was too shocked to answer immediately. Throughout her pregnancy, Tom had made it clear that he wanted the baby to be Irish in every way, and she had accepted it, had agreed happily. What on earth had brought about this sudden consideration of the other options?

"Why? I thought we agreed months ago that the baby would be born on Irish soil," she said, puzzled.

Tom was silent for a minute.

"Your mother wrote to me," he said eventually.

"Mama wrote to you? Why on earth…"

"She wants the child born at Downton. She wants to be present at the birth of her first grandchild. And she wants you to be looked after by Dr Clarkson, since he's known you so long. Sybil, my love, tell me, if you want to go to Downton, we will go. I see your mother's point about the better medical care, and I've been so worried that something might happen…"

Sybil thought hard. She knew what it must cost Tom to allow the child to be born in England, and loved him for the concern and thoughtfulness he was showing towards her. The thought of home was so appealing, and if she was honest with herself, she had been worrying about giving birth.

"I know you want the child born here. I respect that, and am willing to stay here if you wish. But… I would like to have Mama with me," she said slowly.

Tom held her tightly in his arms.

"Then we shall go to Downton, and soon, before it gets too risky for you to travel. You must have the best medical care, and I can't provide that here. Should I write back to Lady Grantham or will you?"

"I will," Sybil said decisively. "Tomorrow. And thank you Tom, thank you from the bottom of my heart."

"You are welcome, my darling. All I want is for you to be happy."

Sybil kissed him gently, then lay back on the pillows and thought happily of Downton and her family, and the new member of it that would soon enter the world.

* * *

Robert paced around the library, rehearsing what he was going to say. Murray had informed him of the situation, and Robert had had time to think over it. Now, he simply had to communicate it to Mary and Matthew. In theory, it was simple. But in truth, he knew it was going to be very hard for all of them.

But Mary was right, he saw that now; however hard this was, it was not right for him to sneak around behind their backs and make arrangements that would affect his daughter and son-in-law without informing them. Immediately after his conversation with Mary a few weeks ago, he had felt terribly guilty for thinking that it was a good idea to keep it secret. He had only waited this long because he had wanted to wait until Matthew was recovered from his illness. Now, there was no excuse not to tell them everything. Even though the truth pained him so much, he had to tell them.

He heard the door open behind him and turned to see Mary and Matthew entering the room. He could tell from their expressions that Mary knew exactly what this was about, but that Matthew didn't. Mary sat down at the end of the sofa, and Matthew positioned his chair so he was as close to her as possible, and they both looked up at Robert expectantly.

Robert considered sitting down, but decided against it. It helped him to be able to pace when he was thinking or discussing something difficult. He stood and faced them, his expression grave.

"I… there is something we need to discuss," he began. Then he paused, uncertain how to proceed, despite the fact he had rehearsed this speech in his head innumerable times in the last few hours.

"Yes Papa?" Mary said, her voice neither encouraging nor discouraging, but rather, blank and emotionless. Robert, who had always found Mary's ability to disguise her emotions disconcerting, found it even harder to remember his prepared speech.

"Robert, what is it?" Matthew asked, utterly bewildered, and worried. What if this had something to do with that Canadian railway investment that had lost them so much money? He had looked at the estate finances, and had thought they would just about manage to get by despite the loss, but what if there was another problem? They were not in a strong enough position to survive any further losses. "It's not about that investment is it?" he asked cautiously.

Robert shook his head, but now it was even harder to carry on; he was only too aware that without Matthew's intervention, they would have lost Downton, and now, he was about to tell him that he had been looking the next heir. It seemed so cruel and ungrateful, but really, the only options were to say nothing, which Mary had shown him was wrong, or to speak now and explain.

"No, it's nothing to do with that. I… I spoke to Murray on the telephone yesterday about something… quite separate from that. You see, a few weeks ago, I asked him to, erm, make enquiries. About… about the next heir," Robert said, his voice trailing off almost to a whisper by the last word. He looked down at the carpet, studying the patterns, then, after a few seconds, built up the courage to glance up. He saw Mary's mouth set in a thin line, and Matthew… looking rather as if he had been punched hard in the stomach. Robert turned away, unable to look, and began to pace again.

After a few seconds, he heard Matthew's quiet voice. "And…?"

He turned and forced himself to look at the young man he had come to see as his son, and felt his throat go tight, and doubted he would be able to speak properly. He took several deep breaths, then spoke again, relieved when his voice came out quiet but clear.

"There is no direct male heir. There are many male distant cousins, but they are all through the female line. You will be the last Earl of Grantham, Matthew," he said sadly.

Mary felt suddenly as the world around her was no longer real. She had prepared herself to hear about some distant cousin whom they had never met, but who would have everything when her father and Matthew were dead, and although she hated the thought, there was nothing anyone could do about it, so it was not worth worrying about. But this, this was completely different. The idea that there could simply never be another Earl of Grantham seemed utterly ridiculous, and yet, it was possible.

"What?" she breathed, sounding utterly horrified.

Matthew couldn't speak. He had not expected this. Much as he loved Downton, he had been prepared to be told one day that there was some distant cousin who would inherit, some man who would be healthy and whole, and far more suited to being Earl than he was. But this was different. There would not be another Earl of Grantham, and it was because of him. He knew how much it meant to Mary and Robert, and everyone else, that the Earl of Grantham would always live in Downton Abbey. That was how things should be, how they had been for centuries. And now, because of him, it was the end of the line.

Robert had been like a father to him, had taught him so much, had given him his daughter, had let him live at Downton since the war. And now he had let him down. As the heir, all he was expected to do was to not ruin the estate, and provide and heir. And he couldn't.

Unless… but no, he couldn't hope now. It was only a slim chance, Mother had said.

But his pain was nothing to what this must mean to Mary. Downton meant so much to her, and the Earldom was part of it. He needed to comfort her. He reached out and squeezed her hand.

Mary jumped and breathed in sharply at Matthew's touch, then relaxed as the world became real to her again. He was here. He loved her. Nothing else mattered. She squeezed his hand back and took a deep breath to calm herself.

"You are sure?" she said shakily.

"Yes," Robert said, sounded defeated.

There was a minute's silence.

"I am sorry I made enquiries before informing you," Robert said, addressing Matthew. "Only…"

"I understand, Robert, truly I do. I… I'm so sorry," Matthew replied. He felt awful. He knew how much Downton meant to Robert, and he knew that in the eyes of his father-in-law, the title, the money, the house and the estate were not separate entities, that Robert couldn't comprehend a future where any one of them could exist without the others.

Matthew's sincere apology for something over which he had no control, and for which he should bear no blame, made Robert suddenly feel guilty, and put his own worries into perspective.

"Don't apologise for something that is in no way your fault," he said firmly, walking over to stand in front of Matthew, and looking him in the eyes.

Matthew looked away. "It depends how you define 'my fault'. It is because of me that there will be no heir. I would say that that makes it very much 'my fault'," he said bitterly.

"Then it is my fault too: I have proved myself no more capable of making sons than you," Robert said.

"Well if we're going to talk like that, it's my fault too, for being born a girl, and Edith's and Sybil's, and of course Mama's, for losing the baby in 1914. Can't you see how ridiculous it is to talk like that? There is nothing and no one at fault but the law," Mary said, exasperated.

There was silence again.

"And the estate itself? With no direct heir, is the entail broken?" Mary asked.

"Yes," Robert said with a defeated sigh. "Matthew, you will be able to leave it to anyone you wish in your will."

Matthew sighed, but it turned into a cough, and then he couldn't stop. Robert looked on in alarm as Mary rubbed Matthew's back until the coughing passed and he sat back in his chair looking tired and breathless. After a minute, Matthew looked up at Robert and smiled reassuringly.

"I'm fine, Robert, you needn't look so worried."

Robert nodded, but didn't feel reassured. Matthew was recovering, but it seemed to be taking a long time, and after what Mary had told him, Robert wasn't sure he would ever feel truly reassured about Matthew's health.

"We shall see you at dinner, Papa," Mary said, and she stood up, went behind Matthew's chair and pushed him back to their rooms, leaving Robert standing alone.

"I think you should lie down until it's time to dress," Mary said when they were in the corridor that lead to their suite.

Matthew didn't reply, and Mary could see he was lost in his own thoughts.

When they were both lying on the bed, Mary reached out and stroked Matthew's face, seeing the lines of worry creasing his forehead.

"It's not the end of the world, darling," she said gently. Matthew didn't answer. "Darling, it's perfectly possible there will be no problem; we might have a son." She paused, then said slowly, "Do you think we should tell Papa? About… the possibility?"

Matthew closed his eyes and frowned. "No. I can't bear to give him hope, when we don't really know. If… if you ever get pregnant, we will tell him. But to have him waiting and hoping all the time that we have something to announce… no, we can't tell him."

"Alright," Mary murmured.

Matthew opened his eyes and looked at her. She truly was magnificent. She had just been told that unless they had a son, the title that went with the house and estate that were so important to her would never be passed on. And yet she was comforting him, thinking positively about their future.

And she was right to. Because they might have a child one day. Of course there could be no certainty, but there was possibility.

"Turn over," Matthew said, his voice lighter than before.

"Why?" Mary asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Let me give you a massage for a change. You need to relax. I know you've been worried for me these past few weeks, and now this…"

Mary did as he asked, and as Matthew began to massage her back, she began to relax, and no problems seemed as bad as they had before. Whatever happened, they would have each other, and that was all that mattered.

They both fell asleep, and when they joined Robert and Cora for dinner, they seemed so happy and comfortable together, Robert could hardly believe that their conversation earlier hadn't been a dream.

Tomorrow was their anniversary, and Robert determined that whatever problems the family might face in the future, he would do his best to make it perfect for them.

* * *

 ** _Thank you for the lovely reviews. It's nice to be reassured that I'm not writing utter rubbish._**

 ** _For everyone who is hoping for a baby soon, I'm afraid you will have to be as patient as Mary and Matthew are being._**

 ** _If anyone has any ideas for what they might do on their first anniversary, I'd be happy to hear them. I have written an outline of the rest of the story, but it is subject to frequent changes, so ideas are welcome._**

 ** _I hope everyone continues to enjoy the story!_**


	35. Chapter 35

Mary curled up closer to Matthew and breathed in his familiar scent. She was not yet properly awake, but was filled with a wonderful contentment and a sort of excitement. She was too sleepy to even try to remember why, but it hardly mattered. All that mattered was the perfection of this moment. Matthew was here with her, his arm protectively around her even in his sleep. She would never be as thankful for anything as she was for this. Only a few weeks ago, she had faced losing him forever, and now here they were, together in bed like they had been every morning for a year.

Then she remembered. It was their wedding anniversary. It was exactly a year since they had finally married. She smiled to herself and sighed with happiness.

She turned a little in Matthew's arms, then kissed him gently on the cheek to wake him. Matthew groaned like he always did when Mary woke him, however pleasantly she did it. He opened his eyes slowly and Mary's smile broadened when she saw his beautiful blue eyes looking at her sleepily.

"Good morning darling," she said.

"Morning," Matthew murmured indistinctly, then closed his eyes and looked as if he was going to go back to sleep.

"Matthew," Mary whispered into his ear. He jumped at the unexpected tickling sensation, and his eyes shot open again.

"I was sleeping," he complained. Mary laughed.

"I know. But I want you awake."

"Why? What time is it?"

"It doesn't matter. It's the date that's important," Mary said, drawing little circles on his chest with her fingers.

"The date?" Matthew asked, confused. Then he blinked and Mary saw understanding flash in his eyes. "Oh! How could I forget? The anniversary of the happiest day of my life. Come here," he said, and kissed Mary. He found her tongue with his and played with it. He reached his hands into her thick, soft hair, which was still in the neat plait Anna had put it in the night before. He ran his fingers through it, loosening the plait and massaging her scalp.

He was frustrated and embarrassed when he had to pull away in order to cough and get his breath back. He was fed up of being ill and unable even to kiss his wife properly without coughing. But Mary didn't seem to mind, and began to kiss his face, on his cheeks and forehead and even his nose, which made him laugh.

Matthew reached down with his hand and traced a line down Mary's body, tickling her slightly, and ending in the dark hair between her legs, watching her with his clear blue gaze all the time. Mary looked into his eyes with the same intensity as he was watching her, and found it impossible to look away. She gasped as Matthew's fingers traced the folds of skin down there, finally settling where she wanted him.

"Matthew, do you want to try…?" she breathed. Matthew continued to touch her as he thought. They hadn't tried what he called 'proper' love-making since he had been ill, and he did want to try very much. But it didn't always work, and the thought of failing his wife on their anniversary was not appealing.

"Do you want to?" he asked. Mary was going to say she didn't mind, that it was up to him, but her eyes betrayed her; Matthew could see her obvious desire.

* * *

After, Mary lay looking up at the canopy of the bed, her head on Matthew's chest, and felt happy enough to burst. That morning, they had been fortunate, and their love making had been even more wonderful after the weeks without it. A year ago, they had married, accepting that they would never share what they had just shared. Now, they could be joined as only a husband and wife could be, in body and in spirit, and who knew? Next year they might have a child.

She had had a whole year of happiness, and still she wondered at it. What had she ever done to deserve this wonderful man? In her whole life, she could think of nothing. And yet here she was in his arms and she knew, without a doubt, that he loved her every bit as much as she loved him. And now there was this new hope, however small, of children. Yes, life was so good, Mary could hardly believe it was real. But what was the point in reasoning with these things? Who was there to decide who deserved whose love? She was not certain she believed that God did, was not certain there was a God. It was better simply to be grateful for what she had, what they had, and accept and enjoy her happiness.

Matthew was equally grateful for his happiness. It was only just over a year ago when he had wished he was dead, wished that the horrible half-life he was living would end. And now he had come so close to death, he realised how precious life was. When he had wished for his life to end, he had not known what he was wishing for. The thought of never seeing another sunrise, never hearing birdsong again, never seeing Mary's beautiful face and kissing her lovely lips again, was unbearable, and _that_ was what he had been wishing for. He may not be able to walk, but he could get about well enough and look after himself in most ways. He may not be the husband he felt Mary deserved, but he could make her so happy and give her such great pleasure. There may be little hope of their having children, but there were plenty of childless couples in the world, and many of them happy. And there was a chance… And they were so very happy.

"Sybil's coming home soon," Mary said after a few minutes of comfortable silence. "It seems so strange that my little sister is going to be a mother. She still seems so young. But I'm so glad she's having the baby here. I want to be with her, and I don't think I could bear not knowing what was going on. So many women die in childbirth…"

Matthew held her more tightly.

"Sybil will be fine. Dr Clarkson has always known her, and he is a competent doctor. And fewer women die like that every year. Medicine is advancing so dramatically. And she will be at home, in a familiar place with people she loves with her. Besides, your worrying will do nothing to help her."

"I know," Mary said, but sounded unconvinced. Then she smiled. "I know. And I won't ruin this day with my worries."

"Nothing could ruin today. Nothing could ruin any day so long as you're by my side. I love you, Mary Josephine Crawley."

"As I love you, Matthew Reginald Crawley. How long have we got until Anna comes?" Mary asked. Matthew carefully extracted himself from under Mary and leaned over, reaching around the curtains of the bed to reach his watch, which was on the bedside table.

"Still over half an hour," he said.

"Do you remember the day after you proposed, when we came here and pulled all the sheets off the furniture and lay on the bed together?" Mary asked dreamily.

"Of course I do. It was one of the most magical few hours of my life. I still could hardly believe you had said yes, and straight away this time. I couldn't believe that it was really happening to me, that the most beautiful and wonderful woman in the world was going to be my wife. And then we lay on the bed, and it felt as if we were in a different world. That beautiful red light…"

"And now we wake up to it every morning," Mary said happily.

They lay in silence together, comfortable and happy in each other's company, and almost wishing Anna wouldn't come so they could stay forever in this perfect world.

* * *

Mary and Matthew spent the day walking in the gardens and reading. Mary knew that Isobel was unlikely to approve of Matthew's being out for any length of time, but he seemed to be so much better, and the weather was so lovely. The truth was, Isobel's worrying about her son had gone from legitimate concern as he slowly recovered, to fussing that was beginning to irritate even Mary. She had finally been persuaded that she didn't need to stay at Downton anymore, but she still came up almost every day.

It was the first truly warm day that year, and the sun shone down on them from an almost cloudless sky. There was a slight breeze, which made Mary's dress swish around her ankles and which made the day seem like a true fresh spring day. The delicate green buds on the trees were opening to reveal fresh green leaves, and the flowers were blooming and making the gardens colourful and cheerful.

Later, sitting on the sofa together, they read the story of Andromeda, then some of Shakespeare's sonnets. Despite the many hours they had spent together like this in the year since their marriage, it had never become dull, and they were never happier than when they were reading together like this. In the last few weeks, they had spent even more time like this than usual, since Matthew hadn't been well enough to go out. That had been enjoyable enough, but it had been a way to pass the time more than something to do for pleasure. Today was very different. Matthew tried to explain to himself precisely what was so different about this, and found he could not say precisely. Perhaps it was that they had been out earlier, so the sensation of being trapped indoors was gone. Also, although he did not feel strong exactly, he no longer felt exhausted and weak.

* * *

That evening, Isobel, Violet, Edith and Anthony were invited to dinner to celebrate the anniversary. Robert and Cora had been thinking of organising a large party, but Mary and Matthew had told them that they wanted to celebrate with just the family.

Mary and Matthew dressed early for dinner. Mary wore the dress she had worn for the servants' ball, with her jet necklace again. She knew she was rather overdressed for the occasion, but she reasoned with herself that nothing could really be too much for celebrating her wedding anniversary. Nobody would mind, and she enjoyed the admiring looks Matthew was giving her.

Edith and Anthony arrived first, and Edith went straight to Mary as if to embrace her. When it came to it however, it seemed too awkward. They were getting on better with each other now Edith no longer lived in the same house, but even so, they had argued and been unfriendly to each other too much in the past for them ever to be able to embrace and talk together like friends, without awkwardness. It had been different when Matthew had been ill. Somehow, all the usual rules and habits hadn't seemed to apply, and it had seemed the most natural thing in the world for Edith to comfort her sister. But now they smiled at each other and Edith said,

"Happy anniversary Mary." Her voice was rather stiff, but her smile was genuine and natural and she truly meant what she said. Mary nodded in answer.

"Thank you," she said. She truly meant it too.

Anthony went over to Matthew and wished him a happy anniversary.

"I'm terribly sorry I wasn't at your wedding. I was behaving like such a fool back then. It was rather rude not to come when I had been invited," he said.

Matthew smiled easily and said reassuringly,

"Don't worry about it. It was a year ago, and things were different, between you and Edith… And besides, it was Cora who decided who to invite mostly. Mary and I were rather swept along by her decisiveness and knowledge of that sort of thing, so as awful as it sounds, I barely knew who was coming."

Anthony looked grateful for the forgiveness, although Matthew could hardly see what there was to forgive.

Isobel and Violet arrived, and they went into the dining room to eat. The meal was cheerful, and there was champagne to celebrate the occasion. Matthew found he could hardly keep his eyes off Mary, or keep his mind off thinking of her long enough to maintain a conversation with any of the other members of the family. She seemed almost more beautiful than ever, with her ball gown and necklace and with her eyes shining with happiness. Whenever they had the opportunity, they held each other's hands under the table. They had had a year together, but somehow, the anniversary made them more aware of how precious their love was and how fortunate they had been.

After dinner, instead of staying in the dining room when the ladies went through to the drawing room, Robert led everyone to the library. As the rest of the family smiled knowingly at each other, Mary and Matthew exchanged bewildered glances. They suspected some sort of surprise, but were at a loss to guess what it was.

They went into the library and looked around, then gasped in unison when they saw what was on the table in front of them.

"A gramophone!" Mary breathed.

"Happy anniversary!" Robert said, beaming.

"Gosh, Robert, thank you!" Matthew exclaimed. Mary pushed his chair closer to the table that held the gramophone so they could look at it close up.

"Oh Papa, thank you!" Mary said as she ran her hand along the smooth metal.

"You're both very welcome, but it was Cora's idea. I didn't like the idea of it very much to start with, but it grew on me. I'm glad you like it," Robert replied, smiling proudly.

There was a few seconds silence as everyone admired it.

"And don't worry, you've got something to play on it too," Edith said eagerly, gesturing to a small pile of records that were on the table next to the gramophone. Matthew picked them up. There was one each from Isobel and Violet, and Mary turned in surprise to her grandmother.

"I didn't think you'd approve of anything so modern, Granny," she said, raising her eyebrows a little.

"I didn't, but Isobel persuaded me you would like it. And since Robert had already bought that… thing, it would have been a shame for you to have nothing to play on it," Violet replied, still looking suspiciously at the gramophone as if it might explode at any second.

Matthew looked at the last one, and frowned. There was no label to say what it was. He looked up at the rest of the family questioningly. Edith smiled shyly and said hesitantly,

"That's from me. Us, I mean. I thought you might like this to remind you of… well, it's supposed to be a surprise. I suppose it was a silly idea really. But put it on and you'll find out what it is." Edith looked a little embarrassed, and wondered to herself why she had had such a pointless and silly idea. She wasn't used to being nice to Mary like this, and now she'd made an effort and made herself look ridiculous.

But nobody seemed to think it was ridiculous, and Matthew was already carefully placing the needle on the record. They collectively held their breath as they waited for the music to begin.

Then the first few notes sounded, slightly scratchy but still beautiful and somehow familiar. The entire family was silent as they listened to the music playing as if by magic

Matthew recognised the song first, and a few seconds later, Mary realised what it was and reached out for Matthew's hand, looking into his eyes, which were bright with recognition of the familiar and beloved tune. Almost forgetting there was anyone else in the room, they mouthed the words together.

 _'…_ _someone within my heart to build a throne,_

 _Someone who'd never part to call my own._

 _If you were the only girl in the world, and I were the only boy,_

 _Nothing else would matter in the world today,_

 _We could go on loving in the same old way_

 _A garden of Eden Just made for two,_

 _With nothing to mar our joy._

 _I would say such wonderful things to you,_

 _There would be such wonderful things to do,_

 _If you were the only girl in the world, and I were the only boy.'_

By the end, they were actually singing quietly, although they could not have said precisely when they had started. Their eyes never lost contact, and by the end, to her surprise, Mary felt her eyes get hot with tears. She tore her eyes away from Matthew and turned to Edith.

"Thank you, Edith. I didn't know you remembered," she said, her voice catching a little

"I don't think any of us would be likely to forget. It was like something out of a story," Cora said, remembering the expression on Mary's face when she had seen Matthew walk into the room.

When the song finished, Matthew reset the needle and played it again. Mary would quite happily have stayed up all night listening to it over and over, preferably sitting on Matthew's lap. But she was increasingly aware that Matthew was getting tired, and the familiar concern for him began to gnaw at her. This was probably the longest day he had had since he had been ill, and he had not yet got his strength back.

She looked at Isobel, suspecting that she would have noticed the same thing. She was correct. Isobel nodded slightly when she saw Mary looking at her, guessing what was on her mind.

"Thank you for a lovely dinner, Robert, Cora, and happy anniversary, Mary and Matthew. But it's rather late, and I think perhaps it's time I went home," Isobel said.

Edith and Anthony, and Violet left at the same time as Isobel, and Mary, Matthew Cora and Robert retired for the night almost as soon as the guests had left.

Although he would never have said so, Matthew was relieved when he could go to bed. He was exhausted, and by the time he had changed into his pyjamas, he could barely keep his eyes open. When Mary had helped him into bed, he lay back on the pillows and closed his eyes, tired, but happy.

"We won't be having a repeat of our wedding night tonight, I'm afraid, darling," he said, smiling wearily as Mary curled up next to him.

"Oh, don't worry. This morning was wonderful. And we've had such a good day. Goodnight, my darling. I love you," she said.

"As I love you," Matthew replied, and they both drifted off to sleep, to dream wonderful dreams of each other.

* * *

Sybil and Tom arrived a little over a week after Mary and Matthew's anniversary. Sybil was huge with the baby, but she looked healthy and very happy to be home. Tom found it less awkward being at Downton than he had the last time, and was greeted warmly as a member of the family, with only Robert standing rather stiffly as he greeted his son-in-law.

Cora was infinitely glad to have Sybil at home with her. The thought of her giving birth alone in Ireland was horrible, and she wasn't sure how she would have borne it. She remembered the first time she was pregnant. She remembered the fear and the excitement and anticipation. It was during her pregnancy that she and Robert truly found out how much they loved each other; he had been so proud and kind and attentive. She enjoyed watching him behave in the same way now with Sybil. He was constantly asking if she ought to go and lie down or if she felt alright or if she wanted anything.

He was only rivalled in his attentiveness by Tom, who could hardly bear to leave her side for a minute. He spent every hour of every day with her, watching her carefully and fussing over her until she began to find it irritating. He fidgeted impatiently after dinner every evening when he had to stay behind with Robert and Matthew instead of doing what he wanted to and following Sybil into the drawing room.

Robert began to soften towards Tom as he watched him look after Sybil so well, and he tried his best to be friendly. After all, this man was to be the father of his first grandchild. He tried his best to include Tom in conversations, although this was not easy since they had very little in common. He noticed the easy friendship between Tom and Matthew, and almost envied it. Matthew seemed to be able to get on with anyone.

Edith spent a lot of time at Downton with Sybil, constantly wanting to feel the baby kick and know everything about pregnancy. She was desperate to have a child of her own and was almost jealous of Sybil for her good fortune in becoming pregnant so quickly. She knew it was too early to worry, but every month when she realised again that she was not pregnant, she was more disappointed, and she was beginning to think she would never have a child. Anthony's first wife had had no children, and her own parents had only had three girls. She desperately wanted to provide Anthony and Locksley with an heir, and desperately wanted to be a mother.

One afternoon, Edith and Sybil were sitting in the morning room talking. Tom had been persuaded to leave Sybil for a while, and Matthew was teaching him chess to keep him away long enough to give Sybil some peace. Edith and Sybil were embroidering tiny gowns and blankets for the baby. In a break in the conversation, Sybil caught Edith looking wistfully at her stomach.

"It will happen for you, you know," she said gently, placing her hand on Edith's.

Edith looked at her miserably.

"I'm not so sure. You can't be sure, so don't bother telling me it will be alright. There are plenty of women who remain childless, for no obvious reason."

"Edith, you've been married for what, eight months? You don't need to worry yet! And besides, right now, I'm not sure I'd recommend this to anyone. My back has ached constantly for so long, I can hardly remember how it felt for it not to hurt. I'm tired all the time, and I feel like a whale more than a woman. And the first few months were no fun either. I felt sick every day, and calling it morning sickness is a lie; it didn't stop promptly at twelve," Sybil said.

"But it will all be worth it when you have a baby in your arms," Edith reminded her.

"Yes. Yes, it will be. And you will have your own soon enough. You're young and healthy, and Anthony's not old. Don't despair yet when there's no reason to."

"I know you're right. But still, I can't help worrying," Edith said. Sybil squeezed her hand sympathetically.

After a minute, Edith looked at Sybil. "Are you worried about the birth?" she asked.

Sybil took her hand away from Edith and laid both her hands on her swollen stomach. She couldn't quite bring herself to meet Edith's inquiring gaze, and looked down at her clasped hands. The truth was, she _was_ frightened. She knew that it was a perfectly natural process, that she was young and healthy and likely to be alright. But she also knew that women died every day giving birth, and that not every baby was born alive and healthy.

"Yes," she answered simply, still looking down.

Edith was silent for a long moment.

"I can't tell you it will be alright, I know nothing about it. But Dr Clarkson has delivered many, many babies in his career. He knows what he is doing. And childbirth is much safer than it used to be, and Mama and Granny are still here. And with Tom watching you like a hawk, it's not likely that anything will be missed. And like I said before, it will all be worth it when you have your son or your daughter in your arms," she said bracingly.

Sybil smiled, feeling very slightly reassured. She could get through this if she remembered what would come afterwards.

"I know you'll say you don't mind, but really, do you envisage having a girl or a boy?" Edith asked, trying to bring the conversation to something a little more cheerful.

Sybil finally looked up at Edith.

"I imagine having a daughter. The world is changing, and women will live in a more equal society in the future. I want my daughter to be part of that, to take advantage of the better world I am trying to create. I'm so glad I have no responsibility to provide Tom with an heir. I keep thinking how awful it must have been for Mama, to know that every time she was pregnant, everyone wanted a boy. I'm glad Tom will have nothing to pass on to our children that a woman cannot inherit," she said almost dreamily, as she was indeed dreaming of the future.

"Anthony says that I am enough, that children would be welcome but are not necessary for his happiness. But still, I know he wants an heir. He doesn't want some distant relative to inherit the estate and title, whatever he says," Edith said, thinking of the sadness in Anthony's expression whenever his and Maud's childlessness was mentioned.

"I can't claim to know Anthony's distant relatives, but I think Matthew has proved beyond a doubt that distant cousins inheriting is not such a terrible thing. Of course, I disagree in principal with the law that makes it like this, but in our case, it could hardly have worked out better. What do you think would have become of Mary without Matthew? She would never have married for love, and I doubt she could ever have been happy, however rich and powerful her husband was," Sybil said meditatively. She could no longer imagine Mary without Matthew, and the thought of how the future could have been was almost frightening.

"Not all distant cousins are like Matthew," Edith said. Then she thought for a moment. "I know Mary said that night before my wedding that she didn't mind not having children. But how truthful do you think she was being? She loves Downton so very much, and I know she's sad that there cannot be another Earl of Grantham after Matthew. The estate, the house, the title, it has always mattered so much to her, like it does to Papa. And I can't imagine that she doesn't feel the same… need for a child as I do, even occasionally. But she won't talk to anyone, will she? She never has."

"No. She just doesn't talk about her feelings like that. I wish she did, so we could help her if she needed it. I do think she's more open with Matthew, but on this particular subject… perhaps not. But Edith, don't be offended, but you have no idea how strange it is to listen to you talk so kindly and understandingly about Mary. You've been at each other's throats since before I can remember. You're both so much nicer since the war and since you were married."

"We're happy," Edith replied. "And when you are happy, you wish everyone else could be as happy as you are. Meanness and revenge and cruel teasing seem so pointless. You still don't know the worst of what we did to each other, and I can never explain. It is Mary's secret, and now it is mine. I am ashamed of how I behaved. You have no idea how terrible a thing I did to her, and she got her revenge. But we have forgiven each other, I think, and I find it hard to remember sometimes why I used to hate her so much."

"She was unhappy and angry and she took it out on you. She had known all her life that Papa was secretly, or not so secretly disappointed that she wasn't a boy," Sybil said sadly.

"I never thought about it. She was always just an example that was impossible to follow. She always did everything better than me, was always more beautiful and far more of a success in London. It never occurred to me that that wasn't enough to make her happy. But that's all in the past now," Edith said, trying to sound cheerful.

"Yes," Sybil agreed. "We all have what we want now, love and happiness."

* * *

Meanwhile, Matthew's attempt to teach Tom chess was not going well. They were trying to play a game, but Matthew was helping Tom so much, he was really just playing against himself. The truth was, Tom simply couldn't concentrate on the game. The only thing he could think of was Sybil.

"It's no use," Tom said, grinning. "There are too many rules. I appreciate your effort, but I'm afraid I'm a lost cause."

Matthew laughed. "Nonsense. You're learning quickly enough. And you have other things on your mind."

Tom nodded, but thinking of Sybil made him go rather pale.

"She'll be fine, Tom. Every man is nervous before the birth of his child," Matthew said reassuringly. Tom looked at him uncertainly.

"But what if she's not fine? What if something goes wrong? I don't think I could go on living without her. She is everything to me. And there's nothing whatsoever I can do to help. And she won't admit it, but she's scared. Do you think I should go to her now?" he said worriedly.

"The reason you're here learning chess with me is because Mary told me to occupy you long enough to give Sybil an hour or so of peace," Matthew said.

Tom frowned. "Am I that bad?" he asked.

"Not bad, precisely, but perhaps a bit… wearing after a while," Matthew said, trying to be tactful. "Anyway, she'll be fine. She's hardly far away, and Edith's with her."

Tom looked unconvinced, but looked back at the chess board.

"I suppose we may as well finish the game," he said.

Matthew won, of course, but Tom's mind was so clearly on other things, it didn't feel like much of a victory.

"Do you think I've been distracted long enough for me to be allowed to go back to Sybil?" Tom asked.

"I expect so. It's not as if it was my idea in the first place anyway, it was Mary's. And I'm hardly going to detain you against your will," Matthew answered, trying not to laugh.

"Where _is_ Mary?" asked Tom suddenly.

"She out riding. It's such a lovely day…" Matthew trailed off and looked wistfully out the window. It was a beautiful day, and much as he had enjoyed the time he had spent with Tom, there was nothing he would have liked more than to be out riding, the wind in his hair, chasing after Mary, for of course he would be chasing since she had certainly been a better rider than him. The thought of the freedom, the joy of galloping at a recklessly high speed, jumping over fences and hedges and brooks… It had been so long. It must have been before the war when he last rode a horse properly, just for the sheer joy of it. There were so many things he had not done since before the war, and now he couldn't do them again.

He remembered being taught to ride by his father when he was a small boy. The pony had been enormous to him, but he had not been afraid. He remembered the first time he had galloped, laughing at the fun and joy of seeing the hedges racing past at an impossible speed. He wanted to feel that same joy again, but with Mary. But he couldn't. There were so many things he could do, that he _did_ do with Mary, but riding was not one of them.

Tom watched Matthew's wistful expression and didn't know what to say. He guessed what he must be thinking, although he knew nothing of the joy of riding. He had often wondered what it must be like for Matthew to live a life so different from the life he had lived before, but although they might be brothers in law, he had never been sure that he knew Matthew quite well enough to ask about something so personal. He wanted to say something to take Matthew's mind off what he was thinking of, but could think of nothing.

"I'm going to find Sybil," he said eventually. "And then maybe we could all go and sit out in the sun."

Matthew turned back to Tom and blinked. Tom thought he hadn't heard and was going to repeat what he had said when Matthew smiled and said,

"That sounds like a good plan."

They went to find Sybil and Edith and after Tom had interrogated Sybil to find out if she was at all tired or unwell in any way, and had been repeatedly assured that she was not, they went into the garden. Nobody was very sure where Robert and Cora were, but it was rather pleasant to not have parents watching them all the time. They went to a bench and sat down, and Sybil and Tom sat very close, Sybil leaning on him, her head on his shoulder and their hands meeting on her large stomach. Edith and Matthew, who were sitting on opposite sides of the couple, exchanged smiles.

It was not long before Mary appeared, having decided not to bathe and change until it was time to change for dinner, as it was not long until then. She had come in expecting to find Tom and Matthew in the sitting room, but when they weren't there, she had guessed they must be outside in such glorious weather.

Matthew was the first to sense her approach, although he could not have said whether he had heard her footsteps, or simply sensed that she was coming. He twisted around in his chair, unsure as to precisely what made him do so, and saw her striding across the lawn towards them in her black riding habit, her hat in her hand. Her hair way in disarray as it always was after she had been riding, and the way the loose strands curled slightly at the front reminded Matthew of how her hair looked after they had been in bed together. This made him feel warm inside, and he was smiling widely by the time she reached him.

"Did you have a good ride?" he asked.

"An excellent one, thank you," she replied, looking about for somewhere to sit. The bench would be rather crowded with four people on it.

Matthew held out his arms to her.

"Come and sit on my lap," he invited.

"I'm dirty. You're wearing a cream suit," she replied, looking critically down at her mud-splattered habit.

"It will wash. Come on, I want you near me," Matthew said quietly. Mary hesitated for a moment, then shrugged slightly and sat down. Matthew put his arm around her.

"How on earth did you manage to find enough mud to make you this muddy? It's hardly rained in days, weeks even, there can't be much mud about."

Mary smiled ruefully.

"I jumped a stream," she said. "I'm so glad Papa can't insist I take Lynch with me every time I ride anymore. I might still live here, but I'm your responsibility now, and you're much more trusting. How have you spent your afternoon?" The final question was addressed to everyone.

"Matthew's been trying his best to teach me chess, but without much success, unfortunately," Tom said.

"You're too hard on yourself," Matthew said. "You'll learn."

Tom looked unconvinced, but shrugged. "Perhaps."

Edith stood up suddenly.

"I ought to go, or I'll be late for dinner. Anthony will be wondering where I've got to," she said.

"I think I'd better go and have a bath," Mary said, and Matthew said he would go with her. Tom and Sybil said they would stay outside until it was time to dress for dinner, and the other three set off for the house.

* * *

Mary sat back in the deep bath, the bubbles almost up to her ears. The water was very hot, exactly as she liked it, and there was steam rising up from it, clouding up the mirror over the sink. She knew there was not really time before dinner for her to lie like this, doing nothing, but it felt so glorious, with the bubbles tickling her back and the hot water all around her, that she wanted to stay there forever.

Matthew was sitting in his chair next to the bath, watching her. Usually, Anna attended her when she bathed, but as she had spent the afternoon away from Matthew, she had insisted that he keep her company, and had told Anna she would ring when she wanted her.

"Thank you for doing what I suggested with Tom; he was driving Sybil mad. He can't leave her alone. God knows what he'll be like when she actually goes into labour, although I suppose all men are like that when their wives are pregnant," she said.

"He's worried about her."

"I know," Mary said and sighed. "So are we all. I've hardly known anyone who's had a child. I remember Sybil being born only vaguely, and Edith not at all. And then there was the baby Mama lost before the war… but other than that, I have no experience."

"All we can do is hope for the best, and have faith in Dr Clarkson."

"Yes," Mary agreed. Surely Sybil would be fine? She looked so healthy now, and there was no reason she would not be alright.

"Robert wants to talk about my plans for the estate," Matthew said suddenly. It had been on his mind all day, since Robert had mentioned it at breakfast, but he hadn't said anything to Mary until now.

Mary looked at him with a half-smile on her lips. "Well, that's what we hoped for, wasn't it, when we spent the summer and autumn learning all about it?"

"Yes," Matthew said hesitantly, "but I wish he had been willing to listen before we lost all that money. He's only willing now because he's worried, and he's been confronted with proof that he isn't necessarily always right."

"I don't see that it matters what made him decide to listen. Let's just be glad he is going to now. You have good, thorough plans, and you will make him listen to sense. Just… try to understand, Matthew, that this is his life's work. He already feels that he's failed, and I do so hate to see him unhappy."

" _We_ will make him listen to sense. I think it will all go rather better if you are there, and it is your concern every bit as much as it is mine. They are _our_ plans, Mary, our plans for the estate that will one day be _ours_. Robert wants to speak to me after dinner, and he has asked Jarvis here tomorrow to discuss things. I think it's probably best I speak to him alone tonight, but tomorrow, I think you should be there for the meeting."

"You know, I think that speech has earned you a kiss," Mary said, reaching out. Matthew carefully leaned towards her as she put her hand up to his cheek, and they kissed. "I think we are going to make a formidable team tomorrow, darling," Mary said as she drew away.

"Of course we are going to. We always do," Matthew replied. Mary smiled in agreement, and they kissed again, feeling confident and excited about the future.


	36. Chapter 36

Mary sat in front of her dressing table, trying to decide which earrings to wear. Or that was what she was pretending to do, while in truth, she was simply finding something to do with her hands. She was nervous. She had never been present at formal meetings with Jarvis, even when she and Matthew had been so involved in learning about the estate. The only contact she had had with the man had been seeing him briefly when he came to talk to Papa, and those few times she and Matthew had asked for his assistance, and he had been deliberately unhelpful.

She was so happy that Matthew had suggested, insisted really, that she be present at the meeting, but now she felt the pressure to prove herself capable of what he thought she was capable of. Jarvis was already prejudiced against her, and she knew Papa saw her involvement as a whim of Matthew's that he was willing to indulge rather than something more serious. It was at moments like this that she understood Sybil's passion for fighting for women's rights. It seemed so unfair that she had to prove herself all the time.

Matthew watched her and knew exactly what she was thinking. He was thinking the same. Although Robert was more willing to listen to him than to Mary, his relationship with Jarvis was quite possibly worse than Mary's. He knew Jarvis thought he was a middle class city boy who knew nothing of running country estates, and like so many other people, Jarvis seemed to think his mind was as useless as his legs.

He sighed. They didn't want to be late; it was going to be hard enough without that disadvantage too.

"Are you ready, darling?" he asked gently, watching Mary's expression in the mirror. When he saw she was still holding both pairs of earrings without really looking at them, he added, "The red ones will look lovely. Red always makes you look formidable."

Mary sighed, then put the red earrings in and stood up.

"Right, remember the plan," she said, walking over to stand behind him and massage his shoulders. "We don't criticise anything or anyone. You will not use the words, 'mismanaged', 'failed' or 'waste'. We emphasize that we need to move forward with the rest of the world if we aren't to be left behind. We appeal to Papa, not Jarvis, because he's more likely to listen. We stick together, stand up to Jarvis, and don't allow him to belittle us."

"We'll be fine, Mary. We are a good team, you and I, and we are in the right."

"I know. Shall we go then?"

"Much as I would love you to continue this delightful massage, yes, we should go. We're going to be fine."

"I know we will be."

* * *

"This mean the overhaul of every part of the estate we hold in hand, and some large new parts in addition, all in an instant," Jarvis said, his tone of voice stating his disapproval in no uncertain terms.

Mary rolled her eyes and Matthew sighed in exasperation.

"But don't you see," Matthew said, trying his best to remain calm and sensible about the whole thing, "if we invest in new machinery, new methods and new techniques, the whole estate must benefit by it. And as for taking new lands in hand, we won't be running it as separate farms. We'll find another use for some of the farmhouses-"

"This is ridiculous," Robert interrupted, his voice raised as he began to lose his patience. "Downton has existed for hundreds of years in perfect harmony. We have worked with the farmers as partners. Now you want to blow it all to smithereens!"

"Of course I don't, but-" Matthew began, but this time Jarvis interrupted.

"If I may, my lord," he said politely, "Mr Crawley, you're very new to our way of life here."

Matthew felt his temper rising. This was ridiculous. He and Mary had spent the last half hour explaining their plans in detail, in a way no one who was unfamiliar with the way Downton was run could possibly manage. Yes, it was true he hadn't been born to this life, but by God, he had worked hard enough to come up with these plans, when in truth, it wouldn't be his responsibility for many years yet.

"I beg your pardon?" he said angrily, glaring at Jarvis. Mary put her hand of his shoulder and squeezed gently. It was a gesture to calm him, and to show that she was with him, and he was grateful for it.

Robert sighed, and said more calmly, "There's no point biting Jarvis' head off, you _are_ new to it." He didn't ever mean to get angry with Matthew, but the truth was, Matthew knew very little of Downton compared to someone who had grown up there, and much as Robert appreciated Matthew's eagerness to help, he did wish his schemes weren't quite so… radical.

Matthew opened his mouth to reply, but Mary, guessing he would not be able to speak calmly at that moment, spoke instead.

"Yes, Matthew is relatively new to all of this, although surely after all the time we've spent learning about the estate to come up with these plans, you must see that he is not unfamiliar with the way things are done here. But you can't possibly claim that I am new to any of this. I was born here, I grew up here, and I mean to die here. You cannot possibly claim that I don't care or don't think about the tenants, when I have cared about and visited them since I was old enough to walk. I know very well how things work, and I understand about the importance of tradition. But Papa, you must see, if we put tradition above running the estate as efficiently as it can be run, we will lose everything. Have you not noticed how many of our friends are selling their estates, or parts of them? The world is changing, Papa, and if we are not to be left behind, we must change with it." Her voice was quiet and calm compared to the men, but it was also firm and confident, compelling everyone present to listen.

Robert looked at his eldest daughter with a mixture of pride and surprise. It seemed mad, but sometimes he almost forgot that this beautiful, intelligent woman was the same person as the lively child he had taken to visit the tenants, who had been so kind and friendly, when at home she was cold and distant. Mary was right; he couldn't possibly claim that she didn't care about the people.

"These plans are as much Mary's as mine," Matthew said, calmer now, and proud of Mary's speech. "If you cannot trust me, trust her. I am sorry, Robert, but this latest loss is not the problem. The problem is that you have been bailing the place out with Cora's fortune for decades. Downton must be self-sufficient if it is to have a chance of survival."

Robert sighed deeply and closed his eyes briefly, thinking about what Matthew had said. "Why can't we allow things to evolve more gently?" he asked tiredly. "It's not that I question your goal, Matthew, just your methods, and the speed with which you think we should make the changes."

"Papa," Mary said gently, "We have to _do_ something. Things will not just 'evolve'. You taught me the history of the estate very well, and so I know that letting things remain as they are does not work. You know very well that the third Earl almost went bankrupt and lost everything, the fourth Earl didn't do much better, and we all know that without Mama's money, we wouldn't even live here now. If we want to keep Downton, we must _act_."

Jarvis cleared his throat. "Lady Mary, I am certain the situation is very distressing for you, but I assure you, we do not need to talk in this way. The situation is not at all desperate, and there is nothing for you to worry about. These matters of business are very complicated, and I would not expect a young lady such as yourself to understand, but truly, you need not concern yourself with things that are beyond your comprehension. I assure you that you are not in danger of losing your home."

Mary clenched her hands into fists and gave Jarvis her most withering stare, but before she could speak, Robert put his hand on her shoulder.

"Mary, Jarvis is right. We lost some money, but we are not in true danger. It was a bad investment, and thanks to Matthew, it was a relatively small amount. You don't need to worry about it. I know you care about the tenants, and about Downton, and I am proud of you for it. But the truth is, you are new to this aspect of estate management. As Countess, you won't need to be involved in this. Your mother and grandmother never have been," he said gently.

Mary shook off her father's arm and glared at him, moving closer to Matthew. "Yes, I will be involved in it. Matthew and I work together as equals. If I had been a boy, you would have _wanted_ me to be involved in all of this. Please do me the courtesy of valuing my right to be involved based on my understanding and intelligence, rather than my sex."

"Mary is right. We are partners, equals," Matthew said, taking Mary's hand in his. "You should value your daughter more, Robert. She is as intelligent as any boy educated at Eton, even if she has not been as well educated. But we are forgetting the purpose of this meeting. Mary and I have worked very hard to draw up these very detailed and well thought through plans. They will make Downton more profitable. We have plans to look after any tenants that will be affected. These are the facts. The question is what we all propose to do now."

Robert sighed again and walked over to look out the window.

Jarvis took a few hesitant steps towards him and cleared his throat. "If I may, my lord, perhaps it would be best if…"

"No, Jarvis, you may not," Robert said tiredly. He did not mean to be rude, but he was so very tired of this argument, and he needed time alone to think everything over. "I need time to think. Jarvis, you may leave. Thank you for coming. I will meet with you in the near future when I have made a decision."

Jarvis bowed slightly and left. Mary and Matthew could see that Robert needed to be alone, so they went back in the direction of their suite. Before they reached the corridor that led to their rooms, however, they met Tom and Sybil.

"What were you arguing with Papa about?" Sybil asked. "We could hear raised voices as soon as we came in the front door, and we've just seen Jarvis leaving in a huff."

Mary and Matthew sighed in unison and looked at each other.

"Come to our sitting room and we can discuss it," Mary said. "I don't think papa will want to see us for a while, so I think we'll stay clear of the rest of the house until dinner."

"That sounds serious," Tom said, raising his eyebrows in curiosity.

They went to Mary and Matthew's sitting room, and rang for tea. Tom made Sybil sit down in an armchair with her feet up on a footstool, and when she was settled, he hovered behind her until she told him to sit down. He reluctantly took a seat on the sofa at the end nearest her, but continued to watch her anxiously.

"Honestly Tom, I still have a month to go, you know. I've known women to work until they go into labour, and deliver healthy babies. Stop worrying," Sybil chided. She turned to her sister. "You really must tell us what you are arguing about, Mary. Was it the estate?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so," Mary replied. "You know Matthew and I have been looking at how we might increase the profit the estate makes?" Sybil nodded and Mary continued. "You also know that we lost a large amount of money in a bad investment, although thanks to Matthew, it was a quarter of what it could have been. So you see, we need to modernise and make more money if Downton is to survive. We know how to do that. Papa and Jarvis won't listen."

"Jarvis hates change, and Robert loves tradition and an easy life," Matthew said. "And Jarvis doesn't trust us because I'm 'very new to this way of life' and Mary is a woman. However, I do think we're getting somewhere with Robert. It took losing the money to make him see that he isn't always right, but I think he will listen eventually."

"And Mr Jarvis?" Tom asked.

"I think he'll come around if Robert does, and if not, he can resign and we'll find a new estate manager, one who's willing to move with the times. Unless he's willing to accept that Mary's opinion is as valid as any man's, I don't particularly want him in charge anyway. But of course that's up to Robert; we can help with things, but Robert is the Earl," Matthew replied.

"Well I think you're right to want to be rid of him," Sybil said, looking outraged. "Mary knows as much about the estate as anyone. There's no reason why a woman should be treated differently just because she's a woman. Honestly, the world is changing for women; anyone who won't accept that will just end up being left behind."

Mary smiled. "I knew you'd say that. That's actually a similar argument to the argument we were making to try to make Papa change our method of farming. The world is changing, and we can either change with it, or fall behind."

"So what precisely were your plans?" Tom asked.

Mary hid her face in her hands dramatically for a moment. "Please, I have talked about this enough for one day. I can't explain yet again. I'm sorry Tom, but really, I'm quite fed up," she said wearily.

When Tom looked a little disappointed, Matthew asked, "Do you know much about farming?"

"My grandfather was a sheep farmer," Tom replied. "I used to help out sometimes, and I've always found it interesting."

"Join us when we tour the estate this weekend then," Matthew suggested. He smiled and added, "On the condition you support us against Robert, if you think our plans are sensible."

"I'm not sure the former chauffeur can sway Lord Grantham's opinion if his daughter and his heir can't, but yes, I'll try, and I'll enjoy it I think," Tom replied. Then he frowned and turned to Sybil. "If you'll be alright alone, Sybil? I won't go anywhere if you don't want me to. In fact, perhaps I shouldn't…"

"Go, Tom, please," Sybil said. "You don't need to hover about near me. Mama is here and Dr Clarkson is only in the village and will come if we telephone. And it really is still a month until I'm due; you can't possibly mean not to go out until then?"

Tom fidgeted and looked worried for a moment, before shrugging. "Alright."

* * *

That Saturday, Robert Matthew and Tom set out early to begin their tour of the estate. Mary had decided to stay at home, partly to spend some time alone with her sister, and partly because she thought that perhaps dealing with modern ideas concerning the estate at the same time as modern ideas about women being involved in such things, was too much for her father.

Robert couldn't decide how he felt about Tom joining them. On one hand, Matthew clearly wanted him there, which meant that he probably expected Tom to support him. On the other hand, Tom was a socialist, and however much Robert disapproved of that fact, at least it meant that Tom was likely to care about the tenants. But then, he reminded himself, this wasn't supposed to be about taking sides. He had _asked_ Matthew to help, and they should be working together, not bickering about nothing.

So he forced himself to be pleasant and polite and open to listening to his son-in-law, and slowly, he began to see what Matthew meant about the inefficient way the land was being farmed. Of course, Matthew and Mary had tried to tell him of this before, but he realised now that he had been wilfully blind. He had looked at the derelict barns and the fields full of weeds, but he had not seen. He had pitied the farmers who had lost sons in the war, and had allowed them to fall behind on rent without so much as a cross word or even a suggestion that something should change.

Now, he saw that what he had thought was kindness had not helped anyone. Unable to farm the land properly, many of the tenants were leaving fields empty, and were struggling to grow enough to keep themselves and their families fed. He saw that Matthew's idea of giving them a cottage to live in, then taking charge of the land and farming it properly, would benefit everyone.

He was also amazed at how knowledgeable Matthew was about farming. He remembered when his heir had first arrived, a city boy from Manchester who knew nothing of farming and country estates. Now, Matthew's knowledge outstripped his own. He suspected Anthony's influence had a lot to do with this, and this almost made him laugh; he had spent years saying that Anthony's farming obsession was dull, and now, it could be what was going to save the estate.

Tom also seemed to know what he was talking about, and Robert noticed that he was subtly supporting Matthew without ever seeming to argue. Robert realised with a sudden jolt of surprise that he was proud of _both_ of them, and of Anthony too. Had it really been only a year ago that he had thought Tom the worst choice of husband Sybil could have made?

When they returned home, Robert went to the small library, told Carson that he was not to be disturbed until it was time to dress for dinner, sat down in an armchair with a large tumbler of whiskey, and thought.

He didn't like change. But the problem was, the world _was_ changing, and he could do nothing about it. They could cling to the old traditions here, but if Matthew was right, that would eventually mean the end of this way of life altogether if they lost Downton. He had objected to Matthew's plans because he felt that the old ways of doing things were the best, the safest, the kindest. But he realised he was wrong. He realised that he had been wrong about many things. And now it was time to right those wrongs.

If Mary, Tom, Anthony and Matthew all believed that change was the only way forward, and they all agreed that it was not unfair to the tenants, he could not argue with them.

* * *

After dinner, everyone was surprised when Robert, instead of staying in the dining room when the ladies withdrew, followed them, and gestured for Tom and Matthew to do the same. After the events of that day, everyone expected the men to have a long conversation after dinner to make decisions about the estate, and Matthew and Mary had been preparing to fight for Mary's right to stay. Now, they all went silently into the drawing room and sat down, while Robert went to stand by the fireplace.

There was silence for a few minutes, then Robert cleared his throat and said, "I believe I owe everyone here an apology."

Cora looked up at him, her forehead creased in a concerned frown. "What on earth for, Robert? Has… has something awful happened?"

Robert sighed. "No. But it almost did. You all know we nearly lost Downton, and you all know it would have been my fault. No, don't deny it, you know it is true. Matthew has saved us, given us another chance. I have been blind. I have been proud and arrogant. I have acted as I thought best, but I have made mistakes. I have been told a thousand times that the world is changing, and because I wish it wasn't, I have been ignoring it. I do not mean to do this any longer.

"I have had my eyes opened today. I don't know how to live in this new world, but I am willing to learn. I am going to give Mary and Matthew's plans a chance. I am telling everyone this, because I realise now that you all have the right to know.

"I have failed. I have tried to do what I thought was the right thing, and I have failed. So I must trust those who are more suited to this new world."

Robert turned away, unable to look anyone in the eye. There was an uncomfortable silence which everyone wished to break, but didn't know how.

Then, to everyone's surprise, Tom spoke. "I don't believe you _have_ failed. The way I see it, you have done your best in difficult circumstances. You have put the welfare of your tenants first, and I assure you, there are plenty of landowners who don't do that. You lost money in that investment because you don't know about business. Matthew does, and he and Mary have worked hard to learn about the land. You must each do what you can do. If you can pool all of that, I think Downton has a real chance."

When he had finished speaking, Tom's ears turned slightly pink as everyone stared at him. Then Sybil threw her arms around him, and he automatically held her close. Suddenly, everyone was smiling and agreeing. There would be difficulties, certainly, but together, they would overcome them.

* * *

With the problems and disagreements concerning the estate over with, for the time being at least, the atmosphere in the house was more relaxed. The awkwardness between Robert and Tom, while it had not gone completely, was considerably better, and there was a sense of hope and excitement about the future that seemed to affect everyone.

This lasted until the week before Sybil's baby was due. Suddenly, everything was forgotten except Sybil's health and comfort, as she became more and more tired and uncomfortable. In the last few days of her pregnancy, Sybil stayed in bed. She kept having pains and thinking it was her labour beginning, although Dr Clarkson assured her it was only her womb preparing itself for the birth. Tom sat with her most of every day, and the other family members came to keep her company every now and then. She felt rather foolish for panicking every time she felt the slightest pain; she was a nurse, and ought to know real labour when it came to it. But somehow, it was far more difficult to be rational when it was her own body and her own child she was concerned about.

When it did eventually begin, she was right; she knew immediately that this was the real thing, as did the nurse Robert had hired to look after her. The family were at dinner when the nurse rushed into the room and told them it had begun.

Tom was frantic. He almost sprinted upstairs, but to his relief, Sybil was between contractions and smiled at him nervously.

"Are you alright?" Tom asked, feeling foolish because he knew it was a stupid thing to ask a woman who was giving birth, but was unable to think of anything else to say.

"I'm having your baby. I will be alright when she in is my arms, happy and healthy," Sybil replied. It was strange to think that after all these months of waiting, she would shortly hold her baby and see her face for the first time. She had been thinking of the baby as a girl, but of course, being a nurse and having a logical brain, she knew there was no way she could possibly know. If she guessed right, it would be because she had a fifty percent chance of getting it right, not because her instinct was right. But somehow, it was easier to think of the baby as a girl than as an unknown baby. And if she didn't call it 'her', she would have to call it 'it', which sounded awful.

"She?" Tom asked.

"Oh, I may be wrong. It's just a… feeling I have."

"My mother said the same when she was expecting my sister Catriona, but she was convinced it was a boy. Clearly it's not a reliable kind of feeling," Tom said, remembering how his father had laughed when the midwife had come through and told him it was a girl after months of being assured it was a boy.

Sybil laughed a little, then cried out as another contraction came on. Tom stood up in shock, and looked at the nurse in panic, not knowing what to do. The nurse had seen plenty of nervous fathers, and smiled reassuringly at him.

"It's perfectly normal. Just sit and hold her hand and talk calmingly to her. It will pass soon enough."

Tom sat with Sybil, but when the pain came, it almost hurt him to see her face contorted in agony. He had of course never been present at the birth of a child, and although he had known it would be painful for Sybil, he couldn't tell whether this amount of pain was normal. Sybil seemed as if she was in agony, and she hardly knew what was going on around her. Cora assured him this was normal, but somehow he couldn't quite believe her. How could pain like this be normal and natural? Why had nobody ever told him quite how bad childbirth was? Much as he loved Sybil, he wasn't sure he could put her through this again, and perhaps he would have to leave her alone from now on.

He was only calmed a little when Dr Clarkson arrived. The doctor's calm assurance that everything was going well was slightly reassuring, and it seemed to calm Sybil too. Cora, Mary and Tom stayed with her constantly, except when Mary went downstairs to give reports on how Sybil was doing to Robert, Matthew and Violet. Violet had been eating dinner at Downton Abbey for the past week, not wanting to be on her own in the Dower House when the baby was born. Now she was glad that she was there, to try and reassure her son, who was pacing up and down the room, worrying.

"You'll wear a hole in the carpet, Robert," she admonished sternly. "Sit down for goodness sake. Your daughter is having a baby, like women have been doing since the time of Adam and Eve. Mary said Dr Clarkson was happy with how it is going."

Robert stopped and looked at her. He hadn't realised that he had been pacing for the last hour. He sat down in an armchair, but couldn't bear the inactivity when he thought of what Sybil was going through upstairs. He stood up and poured himself a brandy, offering one to Matthew, who declined. Then he resumed his pacing. Violet rolled her eyes and raised her eyebrows.

* * *

The relative calm did not last long. Just over an hour after his arrival, Dr Clarkson came down to the drawing room to give a report on how Sybil was doing. Only Tom remained upstairs with Sybil and the nurse.

Dr Clarkson stood in front of the family and addressed them all.

"The labour itself seems to be going well enough. But I'm afraid I am a little… concerned for Lady Sybil," he said, frowning slightly. Everyone looked at him.

"What do you mean 'concerned'?" Robert asked worriedly.

"Lady Sybil's ankles are swollen, and she seems… muddled," the doctor replied.

"What sort of muddled?" Cora asked, remembering feeling very muddled indeed during her long and tiring labours.

"Not quite there, not quite…in the present moment."

"And what do you think it means?" Mary asked, standing next to Matthew and gripping his shoulder tightly.

Dr Clarkson bit his lip and paused before answering. He had suspicions and concerns, but he could not be sure, and the family were worried enough without his adding to it. But the fact remained that he strongly believed that something was wrong.

"I think she may be in danger of a condition called eclampsia," he said. "If I am right, we must act fast and take her to the hospital to have the baby delivered by caesarean section. If we don't, both Lady Sybil and her baby will be in great danger."

"Take her to a public hospital? And is that... procedure safe?" Robert asked. "And what is this condition you think she has, and why do you think she has it?"

"Eclampsia causes fits, which can be fatal to both mother and child," Dr Clarkson said grimly.

Cora took a sharp intake of breath and blanched.

"Good God!" Robert exclaimed. "And you think Sybil has this?"

"I think she is at risk of developing it. Her blood pressure is higher than I would like it, and the baby is unusually small. Truly, I am fairly certain. A caesarean may not work, but doing nothing is likely to be fatal. We must act now before it is too late." Dr Clarkson looked hard at Lord Grantham, willing him to listen, and knowing he was not likely to like the idea of a public hospital. But the more he thought about it, the more he was sure that he was doing the right thing. He had seen pre-eclampsia before.

"So you would take her to the hospital?" Cora asked quietly.

"Immediately," Dr Clarkson confirmed.

"To a public hospital?" Robert asked, disliking even the thought of his daughter in a hospital with farm labourers and shopkeepers.

"I can hardly perform the caesarean here," Dr Clarkson said impatiently.

"Certainly not!" Violet put in firmly.

"Is it really necessary? Are you quite certain?" Robert asked.

"As certain as it is possible to be in such cases. Lord Grantham, if we wait for further symptoms, it may be too late."

There was an angry silence, as Robert and the doctor watched each other warily.

"Obviously we must ask Tom. This is his wife and his child," Matthew said, irritated that Tom was being left out of this important conversation simply because he had remained upstairs with his wife.

"Of course we must," Mary agreed, and they both turned to Robert.

"Very well," he said.

Tom was asked, but the news that Sybil was in danger made it impossible for him to think straight.

"Just do whatever you think you should," he said to the doctor, pacing up and down the corridor.

"I think we must telephone for an ambulance and take her to the hospital," Dr Clarkson said certainly.

"Then do it!" Tom almost shouted, then went back to Sybil.


	37. Chapter 37

Matthew stared at the fire, losing himself in the bright flickering beauty of it. He had no idea how much time had passed since Sybil, Tom, Dr Clarkson, Cora and Mary had left for the hospital. He, Violet and Robert were sitting in the drawing room waiting anxiously for the telephone to ring. It must be late by now, although at a time like this, the time of day seemed irrelevant.

By the time the ambulance had arrived, Sybil had been so confused, she had hardly known what was happening. Tom had been distraught and terrified, and there had been nothing anyone could say to comfort him. Cora had been in tears. Mary had been calm on the outside, trying desperately keep Sybil calm, and to reassure everyone else, although Matthew had seen the panic and fear in her eyes. She had dithered, not knowing whether to go or stay, worrying she might get in the way. But Sybil had suddenly called her name, and she had known she had to stay with her sister.

Being the son of a doctor and a nurse, Matthew knew how dangerous a caesarean section was. The chances that both Sybil and her baby would survive were not high. And even if she did make it, the chances that she would be able to safely carry another child were small. He couldn't imagine what Tom was going through. The thought of the same thing happening to Mary made him feel sick. Perhaps it was a good thing they weren't likely to have children. Perhaps they should stop trying. They did want a child so very much, but if this was the consequence…

Violet had resisted Robert's suggestion that she go and lie down while they waited for someone to telephone with news, saying that there was no chance of her getting any rest while she knew her granddaughter and great-grandchild were in danger. None of them could do anything but sit in silence, waiting for news and fearing the worst. Robert filled glass after glass of whiskey and drank it without tasting it, despite his usual appreciation for the fine Scotch whiskey Shrimpy sent every Christmas. Usually, his mother would have admonished him for it, but under the circumstances, it didn't seem worth it; anything that made it possible to get through the night was worth trying.

Matthew could feel himself beginning to drift into sleep, sitting in his chair by the hot fire. It must be the early morning rather than late night by now, and he had been awake since eight that morning. He didn't think he had ever been in his chair this long, and he could feel his body complaining. His shoulders were stiff and painful, and his back hurt too. He knew that if Mary were here, she would force him to at least sit on the sofa, or more likely to go to bed. He knew that sitting in his chair for so long wasn't good for him because of the danger of pressure sores. But he couldn't go to bed until they knew whether Sybil and the baby were alright, and he couldn't get onto the sofa without help. Mary wasn't here, he wasn't going to ring for William at this time and in front of Robert and Violet, and he could hardly ask Robert to help him. It struck him how reliant he was on Mary and he sighed heavily and rolled his shoulders in an attempt to loosen the stiffness. It didn't work.

When the telephone eventually rang, it took a moment for the three of them to be convinced it was real, so strange did the mechanical ringing sound in the silence that had lasted so many hours. Robert choked on his whiskey, then jumped up, still coughing and spluttering, and almost ran to the hallway, something Matthew had never seen him do. Violet rose and followed him, and Matthew came after her more slowly, his shoulders complaining at each push of the wheels. They reached the hall where Robert was holding the telephone, looking pale and drawn and clearly listening to what the person on the other end was saying. He said nothing for a while then said,

"And the child?"

He listened for a while longer.

"Very well," he said, then put the telephone down with a sigh. Matthew looked at him expectantly, and Violet watched his expression.

"Well, are you planning to keep us in suspense all night?" she asked. It was a good imitation of her usual tone, but nothing could disguise the trembling in her voice as she spoke.

Robert shook himself and looked at her, and his worried frown melted into a relieved smile.

"It's a girl," he said tiredly.

"And Sybil?" Violet prompted.

"Alive. Still unconscious after the anaesthetic. Tom and Cora are staying at the hospital tonight, but Mary's coming home."

"Thank God," Violet breathed and collapsed on the closest chair, suddenly exhausted now she was no longer kept awake by adrenaline and worry.

"There's a bed made up for you, Mama," Robert said gently.

Violet sighed and rose again.

"Goodnight," she said, and she began to make her way slowly towards the stairs. Robert suddenly became attentive and went over to support her up the stairs.

Matthew went slowly to his room, but then didn't know what to do. He didn't want to ring, not knowing which servants would be awake and not wanting to wake William at this unearthly hour. He wondered suddenly if he could possibly get onto the bed without help. It had never occurred to him that it was possible, but now, it didn't seem like such a mad idea. He positioned his chair next to the bed and thought about how he might do this. He knew his arms were strong, and if he could just get in the right position, maybe…

He planted his hands firmly on the bed, tried to pull himself up a little, then breathed in sharply at the pain in his shoulders. No, he wasn't going to be able to do this. What had he been thinking? What if he had tried, then ended up on the floor?

Although… perhaps if he wasn't so stiff and sore, and perhaps if the bed was a little lower, and the arms of his chair didn't get in the way quite so much…

For now though, he would just have to wait for Mary.

It seemed like an age before she came, and Matthew was half asleep when she finally opened the door slowly and quietly, and came in, expecting to find her husband asleep in bed. She looked tired and bedraggled, but smiled faintly when she saw him. Then she frowned and looked worried as she took in the fact that he was still up.

"Why aren't you in bed darling?" she asked.

"I didn't want to ring in case William was asleep. And of course none of us could have gone to bed until there was news. How are Sybil and the baby?" Matthew asked tiredly.

"Sybil doesn't look too good, but she's alive, and Dr Clarkson thinks she'll recover as long as there's no infection. He says she'll sleep until at least mid-morning. The baby is beautiful and perfectly healthy, thank goodness, although she is small. Come on, let's go to bed, or I'll fall asleep on my feet. And you need to get out of that chair right now."

Mary pulled off her dress impatiently and lay it on a chair, then kicked off her shoes.

"Help me out of my corset," she asked, and Matthew released her from the tight, uncomfortable whalebone. She was too tired to change her undergarments for her nightgown, or to take her hair down and brush and braid it. Matthew took off his bow tie and his jacket, then let Mary help him onto the bed. He lay down and closed his eyes, too tired to change into pyjamas. Mary flopped down next to him and they were both asleep in seconds, on top of the sheets rather than under them.

* * *

Everyone slept in the next morning after the long, terrifying night. Mary rang for Anna at nearly eleven, later than she had risen in as long as she could remember. Even after sleeping until then, she was tired, and when she went to look at herself in the mirror, she saw she had dark circles under her eyes. She almost laughed at her appearance, with her hair still up like at had been the night before, although it was far less tidy, and her beautiful silk and lace undergarments creased. She dressed quickly in plain, comfortable clothes, then woke Matthew. He was obviously tired too. His cheeks had lost the tentative pink that had been slowly creeping back into them after his illness, and Mary found herself worrying about him almost as much as she was worrying about Sybil. She ought to have made him go to bed before she had left for the hospital the night before.

She made him stay in bed lying on his stomach when she went to the hospital to see how Sybil was, and he was tired enough not to object, falling asleep again when she left and after William had helped him change into his pyjamas.

Mary found Sybil awake but groggy and weak when she arrived at the hospital. She had a private room, which was actually rather nice for a hospital, with a large window that would have let the sunlight in if the curtains weren't drawn. Tom was holding her hand and talking to her, although she only seemed to be taking in about half of what he was saying. Cora stood up from her seat at Sybil's side and spoke to Mary for a minute, but was then driven back to Downton Abbey, having had no sleep at all.

Mary went over and sat on the edge of Sybil's bed and took up her other hand.

"Mary?" Sybil murmured.

"Yes, it's me darling. How are you feeling?"

"Awful. I'm still sleepy from the anaesthetic, and my stomach feels… odd. I assume it's going to start hurting quite a lot soon," Sybil said, and she managed a weak smile. "But you must see the baby. She's so beautiful and perfect, I can't believe she came out of me."

"I can, because you're beautiful and perfect," Tom said, squeezing Sybil's hand.

"Oh Tom, honestly," Sybil said. "Will you get the baby? I want to hold her and show her to Mary."

Tom let go of her hand reluctantly and picked the baby up from the bassinet beside the bed. He held her as if she might break at any moment and laid her on the bed next to Sybil, who shifted her arm a little to hold her daughter. Mary looked at the baby in awe at the perfection and smallness of her every feature and limb. She had never seen so young a baby before, and hadn't known quite how tiny they were at that age. Last night, she had been so relieved that Sybil and the baby had survived, she had hardly noticed, but now she felt she was looking at the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

"She's beautiful," she breathed, reaching out to touch her miniature hand. The baby squirmed and kicked her legs and Mary watched, entranced. "Have you thought about names?"

"We were thinking about Emmeline, and now we've seen her, we think it suits her," Tom said, watching his daughter happily.

"Let me guess," Mary said, rolling her eyes. "After Emmeline Pankhurst. Papa won't be pleased."

"She's not Papa's to name, she is ours. And if he asks, we're going to tell him that she's named after Tom's great aunt Emmeline; I don't want to argue with him," Sybil said, a faint smile playing about her lips, although her eyes were closed.

"I don't have a great aunt called Emmeline," Tom said, confused.

" _I_ know that. But Papa doesn't." Sybil smiled, looking pleased with herself.

Tom shook his head in mock disapproval, but he was smiling. "As a second name, Sybil is set on Saoirse. As it happens, I like it, but heaven help me if I didn't," he said, taking Sybil's hand in his.

Mary smiled. "Is that from that book of Irish names you were reading obsessively, Sybil?"

"Yes. It means freedom or liberty. It can mean freedom and independence for Ireland for Tom, and liberty for women for me."

"Emmeline Saoirse Branson. It does sound fine," Tom said, stroking Emmeline's fluffy hair.

Then a nurse came and told them, in a voice that meant it was not up for debate, that Sybil needed to be left alone to rest. Tom had to tear himself away, wishing he didn't have to leave his wife and daughter. But Sybil was tired, and Emmeline needed to be fed, so Tom allowed Mary to lead him away.

When they reached home, Mary had to force him to go to bed. He was clearly exhausted, but elation at becoming a father and concern for Sybil meant he doubted he would be able to sleep. When Mary had bullied him into going to his room though, his bed looked so appealing, he lay down and was soon asleep.

Mary, feeling pleased with herself, went to check on Matthew. She found him still asleep, snoring softly. She smiled, but couldn't help feeling a familiar concern for him. He had been in his chair far too long yesterday, and according to William, he had a couple of red spots that would need watching carefully. He had never had a pressure sore, and she meant to keep it that way.

Deciding there was nothing she could do now, Mary picked up a book, sat down on the window seat, and lost herself in her novel.

It was mid-afternoon when she finally heard Matthew stirring. She put down her book and went to perch on the bed next to him.

"Good afternoon, sleepy head," she murmured affectionately, running her hand through his hair.

"Afternoon? What time is it?" he asked, his voice slightly muffled by the pillow.

Mary checked his wristwatch, which was on the bedside table. "Almost three. You must be starving, having missed breakfast and luncheon."

"Three? I've been asleep for hours! Why didn't you wake me?" he asked.

"You needed your sleep," Mary replied firmly. "If you weren't tired, you would have woken up of your own accord. Anyway, everyone else has been in bed today; it was a very long night last night."

"How's Sybil? And the baby?"

"Sybil is tired and sore, and I expect it will be a while before she's allowed home, but Dr Clarkson thinks she's going to be alright, thank God. So far there's no sign of infection, and she didn't lose a dangerous amount of blood. The baby is perfectly healthy, and they've named her Emmeline Saoirse. Emmeline for Emmeline Pankhurst, but in case anyone asks, they're saying it's for Tom's great aunt, just to stop Papa making a fuss."

Matthew chuckled softly. "Trust Sybil. Could you help me turn over?"

Mary stood up, pulled back the covers and was about to help him roll onto his back when she paused. "I think I ought to check for pressure sores. William said there were a couple of spots that looked a bit –what was the word he used? – oh yes, dodgy." She smiled. "I'm sure you're fine, but I still need to check."

Matthew sighed. In all honesty, he had expected this; he had certainly been up far too long yesterday. But still, it was irritating.

Mary helped him pull down his pyjama trousers, and bit her lip when she saw what William had meant. The skin wasn't broken, but there were red patches that worried her.

"Mary?" Matthew asked when she was silent. He twisted around, trying to see, but the awkward position hurt his back and he had to give up.

"It could be worse," she said, trying to calm herself and stop Matthew from worrying. "Although it's hard to tell. Oh, I'm such a fool! I should have made you go to bed last night before I left. I…"

Matthew reached out for her hand, and squeezed it reassuringly. "Mary, listen to me. You need to stop blaming yourself for everything. It is my body, and I am responsible for myself." He paused. "How... how bad is it?"

Mary took a deep breath and tried to remember everything Isobel had told her. She forced herself to calm down and be objective and sensible, and breathed a sigh of relief when she realised it wasn't any worse than anything they had dealt with before. "Not too bad, thank goodness. You're not getting up for long today though, and we'll have to see about tomorrow."

Matthew sighed, partly in relief and partly in frustration that he was going to be stuck in bed again.

"Am I allowed to sit up to eat, at least?" he asked resignedly.

"Yes, but not for long. I'll ring for something, shall I?"

"Yes please. I'm starving."

Mary realised that she too was hungry, as she had missed dinner the night before, and had had no luncheon, so when Anna came, she asked for food for herself too.

They passed a pleasant afternoon and early evening together. Mary put record after record on the gramophone and opened the door between the bedroom and the sitting room where the gramophone was, so they could hear the music. They ate slowly, feeding each other in a manner so ridiculous, it made them laugh almost hysterically. Then, with Matthew lying on his stomach again, Mary read to him.

They didn't join the family for dinner, but they went to join them briefly in the drawing room afterwards. No one stayed up for long. Cora and Tom were still exhausted, Robert was still suffering the effects of drinking what was, even for him, a very large amount of whiskey the night before, and Matthew needed to lie down again.

As William was helping him change into his pyjamas, Matthew observed that the bed in his dressing room was quite noticeably lower than the bed in the bedroom, and he wondered again about trying to get from his chair to his bed and back without help. Last night had reminded him just how dependent he was on others, and he didn't like it. So when he was dressed in his pyjamas and was ready to go next door to Mary, and William asked if he was ready to be lifted back into his chair, he shook his head.

"I've been thinking, William," he said slowly, "that perhaps I might be able to learn to manage on my own."

William stared at him blankly.

"I mean, the bed in here is lower than in our bedroom, and I've never even tried, so I thought it might be worth a go. It would make things so much easier if I could," Matthew continued.

William suddenly realised what Matthew meant, and he grinned excitedly. "I'm sure you could, you know. Maybe not right away, but I don't see why you couldn't learn. I never even thought about it. Do you want to try now?"

Matthew bit his lip, suddenly nervous, but he nodded. "Is the brake on my chair? Because I can imagine it could go horribly wrong if it wasn't."

William checked and nodded, then went to stand in front of Matthew. Neither of them really knew how this was going to work, but now, they were both excited to try.

"It's not far off the same height. And at least this way, gravity is in my favour," Matthew said. "Right, if I try to slide myself across, can you hold me without taking too much of my weight? Just catch me if things don't go well."

William nodded and stood so he was ready to help if needed. "I'm sure you can do it, sir. Are you ready?"

"Yes. Promise not to laugh if things don't go to plan?"

"Of course not sir," William said, his expression so comically serious, Matthew knew he was not being serious at all.

"I'll pretend to believe you. Alright. One… two… three."

Next door, Mary was sitting at her dressing table and talking to Anna about Sybil and Tom's choice of names for the baby. They were suddenly startled from their conversation when they heard Matthew swear loudly.

Mary stood up quickly as she called, "Matthew? Are you alright?" Matthew never swore, or at least, not in her hearing, so it worried her.

"I'm fine, Mary, don't worry. I dropped something is all. Sorry, I didn't mean to… sorry. I'll be through in a minute," he called back hastily.

Mary frowned, unconvinced, and was thinking of going through to check that he really was alright, when the door opened and he came into the room, smiling reassuringly. He came over to her and reached out for her hand.

"I'm sorry, darling. I dropped a book on the floor, and of course I couldn't reach it. I didn't mean to alarm you." He didn't want to lie to her, but neither did he want to tell her what he had been trying to do, and that if William hadn't caught him, he would have ended up on the floor. He knew she would worry and fuss, and tell him not to try again.

Although it hadn't been disastrous. He was still tired from the night before, so maybe if he had been at his best, it might have gone better. With practise, it seemed likely he would manage. Perhaps if he continued to work on it with William, he could surprise his wife one day.

When Mary helped him onto the bed, he thought about how he might manage on his own. Mary was still looking at him as if she didn't quite believe his explanation, but when he kissed her, she seemed to forget about anything except kissing him back with equal passion, and he did the same.

* * *

Sybil was kept in the hospital for the next three weeks, and little Emmeline stayed with her. It took longer than expected for her blood pressure to return to normal, and although she was healing well after the operation, the danger of infection would not be gone until she was healed enough to have her stitches out. Tom spent every hour he was permitted with them, marvelling at the tiny person he and Sybil had created from nothing but their love. He was profoundly relieved that Sybil was alright after facing the possibility that he might lose her, and he worried whenever he was not with her. It was only after the birth that Dr Clarkson had explained quite how dangerous it had been, and how lucky Sybil was.

When she came home, she was well enough to walk from the car to the house, supported by Tom. She went straight to sit down on the sofa in the library, and Tom fussed about with cushions until he was certain she was perfectly comfortable. The rest of the family gathered around her, glad to see her home. Emmeline was taken upstairs in the care of the nanny Robert had insisted on hiring. Sybil had tried to protest that she wanted to look after her own baby, but it was clear even to her that she wasn't really well enough to do this without help.

Cora sat next to her daughter and stroked her hair fondly.

"I'm so glad to have you home, Sybil darling," she said gently.

"We all are," Robert said. "You have to stop doing this to me, all of you."

"Doing what, Papa?" Sybil asked.

"Worrying me like this. In the last two years, Matthew was badly injured in the war, then only a few weeks ago had us all terrified when he had pneumonia, Cora nearly died of Spanish flu, and now this. I don't think I could stand it again," he replied, speaking as if he was joking, although he was actually being rather serious. The terror that someone he loved might die was becoming horribly familiar, but no easier to bear.

There was a few seconds silence. Mary reached out for Matthew's hand and Cora shuddered.

The silence was broken when Thomas appeared with the tea tray, and the atmosphere lightened. The conversation turned to more cheerful topics.

"Rose is coming to stay soon," Cora announced.

"Oh really? When?" Sybil asked excitedly.

"July sometime, although I can't remember the exact date. Your Grandmother knows," Cora replied, smiling at Sybil's excitement. She and Rose were relatively close in age and had always been friends as girls.

"I'm sorry, but I don't think Tom and I are quite up to speed on all the friends and relations," Matthew said apologetically, trying to remember whether Mary had mentioned someone called Rose, or if he'd seen her at his or Edith's wedding.

"Lady Rose MacClare. She's our second cousin. She's seventeen, I think, and she lives in Scotland. Her father, Lord Flintshire, was at Edith's wedding, but for some reason I can't remember, Rose and her mother couldn't come."

Matthew tried to remember Lord Flintshire, but there had been so many distant relatives at Edith's wedding, almost all of them Lords and Ladies, he couldn't remember him.

"We all call him Shrimpy," Robert said, and Matthew suddenly remembered him; a gruff man, past middle age, who wore a kilt to the wedding.

"Yes, I remember now."

"Is she staying here?" Sybil asked.

"No, with your grandmother," Cora replied.

"Golly. Granny will get a shock," Sybil said, remembering Rose's liveliness, vivacity and love of anything modern and new. Seeing Granny's reaction to the great niece she hadn't seen in over a decade would be amusing. "I can't wait to see Rose again. It's been ages."

Tom frowned slightly. He wanted to get back to Ireland as soon as Sybil was well. Of course they would stay for a while, but he was eager to get home and show the baby to his family. He also wanted her christened in Ireland, and christened as a Catholic. And they couldn't wait forever.

Sybil, always sensitive to his emotions, sensed what he was thinking.

"We don't have to go back quite yet, Tom. I know you want to get back to Ireland, but I won't be fit to travel for a while, and a few weeks after that won't make much difference, surely?"

Tom sighed, but looked at her reassuringly.

"We won't go back a day before you want to," he said.

Robert was pleasantly surprised at Tom's thoughtfulness. He had expected arguments about how long they would stay, but it seemed Sybil was in control. He smiled to himself. How could it have been any other way, with Sybil as headstrong as she always had been?

* * *

Later, when they were lying in bed together for the first time in what felt like an age, Sybil could tell that something was bothering Tom. She guessed that he probably didn't want to bother her with it because he thought she needed to rest. It was true that she was tired, but she was not going to get any rest until she knew what was worrying her husband.

"Tom? What are you worrying about?" she asked.

"What? Nothing. Go to sleep, my love," he replied too quickly. He kissed her, then lay back.

"Tom. Tell me."

He sighed, then, as Sybil had expected him to, he told her what was worrying him.

"The christening. If we're to stay here too long, it will have to be here. My family won't be there, and… Sybil, will your family even let us christen Emmeline as a Catholic?"

Sybil sighed. She should have thought. She had been so absorbed in Emmeline, and then excitement to see her cousin again, she hadn't thought about the implications of staying at Downton. Before, she has assumed that she would just have the baby here, stay until she could travel, then go back to Ireland. But if they were to stay to see Rose, it would be a while before they could go home, and she knew Tom wanted Emmeline christened fairly soon.

"Surely we can wait until we're home? I know it will be a few weeks longer than we expected before she can be christened, but that doesn't matter does it? Because you're right, Papa will hate it, and nobody else will be exactly… pleased. Of course we could get our own way in the end, but I don't think it's worth the arguing. And I really would rather have it done at home."

Tom thought for a minute, then nodded. Then he smiled brightly and kissed Sybil suddenly.

Although being kissed like that was very pleasant, Sybil raised her eyebrows in surprise. "What did I do to deserve that?" she asked when Tom drew away, still smiling.

"You called Ireland 'home', and you truly want to go back. You have no idea how happy that makes me," he replied, sounding elated.

"Oh Tom, of course Dublin is my home. Our home. How could you think otherwise?"

"I… wondered. I know you like coming to Downton, and I know you miss your family."

"Of course I miss my family, but I never expected to stay here forever. I do love it here, but I'm not Mary; there was never any question of my marrying Patrick, or inheriting anything even if the entail was broken, so I was always going to leave when I married. Although… yes, for a while, I still thought of here as home. Then I felt as if I had two homes for a time. But now… now, I am certain that we, you, me and Emmeline, belong in Ireland. I'm as homesick for Dublin as I was for Downton when we were first married. I do want to go back, Tom, and we will have the Christening there. But let's stay until after the cricket match. That's not too far in the future, and it gives us a definite time to leave by. I can't go home without spending a decent amount of time with Rose. I haven't seen her for so long, and who knows when we'll see her again?"

"Alright. I'll write to my mother to explain, and we'll stay until after the cricket match," Tom said decisively.

Sybil snuggled up closer to Tom and he put his arms around her. "I do love you, you know. So very much," she said softly.

"As I love you," he replied. "Oh Sybil, I've been so frightened. I thought I was going to lose you. And now you are getting better, and we have Emmeline. I never thought I could be so happy."

"I'm glad I have made you happy, because you have made me happier than I ever imagined I could be." Sybil yawed suddenly.

"Sleep now, my love," Tom said softly.

"Goodnight Tom."

"Goodnight Sybil."

Sybil fell asleep almost immediately, but Tom lay awake for over an hour, simply listening to her breathing, each breath providing proof that she was here, alive, recovering. He didn't truly believe in miracles, but having a healthy wife and child certainly felt miraculous.


	38. Chapter 38

Emmeline changed life at Downton Abbey from the day she was brought home from the hospital. It had been many years since there had been a baby in the house, and she was doted on by everyone from her great-grandmother the Dowager Countess of Grantham, to Daisy the kitchen maid.

Although Sybil was grateful for the help the nanny gave her, she was determined to raise her daughter herself. To her family's shock, she and Tom spent almost every minute of every day with Emmeline, and although she was fiercely protective of her daughter, Sybil let anyone who wanted to hold or play with the baby do so, including the servants, whom, she argued, had been Tom's friends and part of the household.

Lunches, teas and dinners could be interrupted immediately if Emmeline began to cry, and although Robert pretended to grumble, he couldn't find it in himself to reproach Sybil or Tom for wanting to be with their child. He was still in shock from coming so close to losing his youngest daughter, and he knew that his first grandchild could easily have grown up motherless. As he watched Tom's utter devotion to Emmeline, he began to wonder if perhaps he should have spent more time with his own daughters when they were young. Mary had grown up feeling as if she was a disappointment, and he had never done enough to convince her that she was not, could never be, a disappointment to him. Edith had felt plain, ignored and unappreciated, and he had never really done anything to reassure her. And Sybil, the beloved baby of the family, had felt trapped in a life she hated. And although he loved his daughters more than he could express in words, he had never realised that they weren't happy until they had married, and were fully understood and appreciated by their husbands.

He tried to make up for his perceived failure as a father by doing his best to be a better grandfather. After all, this may be the only grandchild he would have. Mary would never be a mother, Anthony's age lessened Edith's chances of having a child, and he knew that after what had just happened, Sybil may be unable to have another child. So he held his granddaughter, allowed her to hold his fingers in her tiny hand, talked to her as if she could understand. Sometimes, he would say something, and some look in her eye or expression on her tiny features or slight tilt of her head would convince him, if only for a moment, that she had understood. He realised that he had missed all of this with his own daughters, missed this magic of watching a child learn about the world around them.

He wondered guiltily if he would have behaved differently had he had a son, but knew in his heart that the problem, the barrier that had kept him at a distance, had been tradition. His own father, whom he had loved and respected above all other men, had been a relatively distant figure in his early childhood, so he had behaved in the same way, knowing that this was the 'proper' way for a father to behave towards his children. Only now did he realise that perhaps tradition was not necessarily the best thing on which to model his behaviour.

At the same time, he was coming to see the benefits of Matthew's very untraditional ideas and plans for the estate. No, Matthew _and Mary_ 's ideas and plans. So far, not one of the tenants had objected to the new ways of doing things, which were slowly being introduced. New machinery was treated with suspicion, then excitement and gratitude. Offers of cottages for retirement were gratefully accepted, a welcome relief to farmers who had been struggling, after years of hardship. Even Jarvis was beginning to come around, although _beginning_ was the key word.

For the first time since the beginning of the war, Robert began to feel that his life once again had purpose. He was preserving Downton for the benefit of the tenants, for his love of the land, and for Matthew and Mary. After that… well, who knew. He was confident his daughter and his heir would do the right thing with the estate, whatever the right thing was. Perhaps with all the medical advances Isobel was always talking about, there may yet be an heir. This thought was not strong or certain enough to be called a hope, but it remained at the very back of his mind, whether he chose to acknowledge it or not.

* * *

The idea of children was very much at the front of Matthew's mind. For months now, he and Mary had been cautiously hopeful that they might one day be parents, and the prospect had filled them with excitement, even while they had tried not to hope too much. Now though, he was beginning to wonder if it wasn't a good thing that it was unlikely Mary would become pregnant. How could he put her through what Sybil had just gone through? He had been terrified for Sybil, and would have been devastated had she not made it, and if it was Mary… well, he wasn't certain he could go on living if he lost her.

So since that awful night, he and Mary had not made love 'properly'. Of course, they had made love, as they had made love in the first months of their marriage. But they had done nothing that could possibly result in a child.

To begin with, Mary thought nothing of it. Matthew was no less affectionate or passionate than usual, and it was not as if they usually made love 'properly' every night. But Emmeline's presence in the house made Mary eager for a child of her own, and it was not long before she did begin to wonder what was wrong. Did he not enjoy that form of love making, because he couldn't feel it? No, that didn't make sense, because it had been he who had been the most eager to try it since the first day he knew it was possible. Was he ashamed that he couldn't always stay hard as long as they both would have wanted? That seemed more plausible, although if that were the case, it would be she who should be ashamed for making him feel that way when she was never disappointed with their love making; he always made sure she could finish, even when he couldn't. She wished there was something she could do to reassure him, but while they could usually talk to each other about anything, this particular subject was difficult.

One night though, when instead of simply taking her hand and guiding it somewhere else when she touched him _there,_ he looked away from her with sadness and pain in his eyes and said 'No, Mary. Please,' she knew she had to say something.

She gently placed her hand on his cheek and turned his face to look at her again. "It's been weeks, Matthew. Why?"

He closed his eyes and his forehead creased in a frown. He had known this was coming; it was not as if she would simply have said nothing as more and more time went by. But he didn't know what to say. He didn't want to voice his worries, as he almost feared this would give them more strength. And if he let Mary know what he was concerned about, he knew she would talk him into ignoring his worries and doing what they both wanted to do.

When he didn't answer her, Mary said softly, "Darling?"

Matthew sighed. "I'm just enjoying you in other ways." He forced a smile and pulled Mary close to kiss her. She kissed him back, but then drew away almost immediately.

"And I am enjoying you in other ways too, but why do you want to avoid one particular way?" she asked.

"I just don't feel like it," he replied, although he couldn't look her in the eye as he spoke, so Mary knew instantly that he wasn't being entirely truthful.

"Matthew, darling, you're a terrible liar and you know it. You had better tell me precisely what's going on. I'll get it out of you eventually anyway," Mary said gently, stroking Matthew's hair, to calm herself as much as to reassure him.

"Just leave it, please. There's nothing… wrong. I simply…" he said pleadingly.

Mary sighed. She didn't like talking about this, but there was no way she could ignore the fact that something was clearly worrying Matthew.

"I can't just go on leaving it, Matthew. I've 'left it' for weeks, and whatever the problem is, it hasn't gone away. I am not going to sleep until you tell me." When Matthew didn't answer, she said quietly, "You have always wanted a child. You know perfectly well that we can never have one if we don't try. Whatever is worrying you is clearly quite serious."

Suddenly, Matthew knew he couldn't put her off any more. He couldn't keep secrets form her, not after all the promises they had made to each other to be honest. And he knew Mary wanted a child as much as he did.

He sighed and pulled her close to him. "I love you, Mary. I love you so much, I can't imagine the world without you. And I can't imagine putting you through pain and fear and… Oh Mary, you saw how it was for Sybil. I can't put you through that. I do want a child, but I want you more, and I can't risk losing you."

Mary felt tears in her eyes, then rolling down her cheeks. Of course. It made perfect sense. Sybil's labour had been traumatic and dangerous and painful, and it had been since then that Matthew had been avoiding the possibility of having a child. And her constant fear that she would lose him allowed her to understand completely about his fear of losing her.

"Oh Matthew," she said through her tears, "why didn't you tell me? I know you're worried, but you see, it's not your decision to make, or at least, not alone. I don't want to stop trying. If it is at all possible, I want to make you a father. I know you want that. I know it was bad for Sybil, but there's no reason it would be like that for me. Childbirth is so much safer than it used to be. And the reward at the end of it would be worth anything, surely you can see that?"

Matthew kissed Mary's tears away. "I can't put you in danger. I just can't. If you got pregnant, and something happened to you, I could never forgive myself."

"Do you blame Tom for what happened to Sybil? Do you think for one moment that it was all his fault, and that if Sybil had died it would have been he who had killed her?" Mary asked, looking Matthew in the eye.

Matthew looked shocked. "What? No, never, of course not!" he protested. Then he realised what point Mary was trying to make, and smiled despite the seriousness of the subject they were discussing. She was clever.

"Precisely," she said. "So it would not be yours. We both want to be parents, just like Sybil and Tom did. And now they are, and they are very happy. And we mustn't forget quite how wonderful and miraculous it is that we can even have this conversation. We thought it was impossible, and it's not. Don't you see that we must make the most of this chance we have been given?"

She leaned even closer to him and whispered, "And quite beside that, I have missed having you inside me, my darling."

Matthew held her close to him, feeling her heart beating. He loved her so much, the thought of losing her was too awful to bear. But she was right. It was her decision too. She deserved to have everything she wanted, including children, and he would do anything to give her that. He remembered how excited she had been when they had discovered there was a possibility. He remembered how happy she had been the first time they had made love properly, after thinking for so long that it was impossible. And he remembered how she looked at Emmeline with so much love and tenderness, it made him certain that she would be a wonderful mother.

"None of us know how long we have in this life, Matthew," she said, cutting across his thoughts. "So while we are alive, while we are together, we must make the most of every moment."

"Alright," Matthew said. "Yes. You're right. But if you ever do get pregnant, you are having the baby in the hospital, and I'm going to find the best doctor in the country to look after you, and…"

Mary silenced him with a kiss.

"I think we're getting rather ahead of ourselves, darling," she said when she drew away. "I think for now, we should concentrate on-"

"Making babies," Matthew finished for her.

She laughed. "If you want to put it like that."

Then they were kissing, then touching, then enjoying each other with no thought for the past, the future, anyone or anything else. Only each other and their love.

* * *

Rose arrived in mid-July, and on her first night, she and Violet were invited for dinner at the Downton Abbey, along with Isobel and Edith and Anthony. Sybil was rather excited to see her cousin again, and to show Emmeline off, although Mary and Edith had always been just too old to have ever been very close to her, and were less enthusiastic, although like the rest of the family, they were looking forward to seeing her again and having their young and lively cousin to stay.

Rose was dressed in a flattering pale pink dress, very modern in style and glittering with hundreds of tiny beads. Her curly blond hair was pinned up simply but elegantly and she walked with a studied air of unconscious grace, which was in fact the very opposite of unconscious. She had always looked up to her older cousins with a sort of awe, thinking them the epitome of grace and elegance, especially Mary. She was trying very hard to show them that she was a woman now, and a beautiful one, for she knew very well how pretty she was.

She walked in behind Violet, looking for all the world like an obedient and well behaved young lady, which rather surprised her cousins, who remembered a disobedient and lively girl. Violet was looking pleased with herself for the way she had subdued her charge. Rose greeted Robert and Cora politely, but when she turned to Sybil, she let go of the self-restraint she had been putting on, and almost squealed. She embraced her cousin enthusiastically and kissed her cheek.

"Oh Sybil, it's been an age! I can't believe you're a mother! You have to show your baby to me; I adore babies. I can't believe all three of you are married since I last saw you! Do introduce me to all your husbands!" she exclaimed excitedly.

"All right, be patient," Sybil said, although she was laughing. "This is my husband Tom Branson. He's a journalist," Sybil said proudly.

"Pleased to meet you, Rose," Tom said.

"I love your accent! I don't think I've met anyone Irish before. Being a journalist sounds frightfully exciting. Is it?" Rose asked eagerly. She had always thought that if she had not been born a Lady, and had been compelled to earn her living, she would have liked to be a journalist.

"Perhaps not as much as you imagine, but I enjoy it," Tom replied. Being a journalist was what he had always wanted to do, and it could be exciting. But in order to earn enough to keep himself and Sybil, and now Emmeline fed, clothed and housed, he did plenty of work that could not be called exciting.

"I think it's terribly romantic that you used to be the chauffeur. It's like a story from a novel! Love conquers all! It's wonderful the way you eloped to Ireland to marry, it's so brave!" Rose exclaimed.

Sybil smiled at Rose's carelessness for what people might think about what she said, and wondered if her parents and grandmother were listening to this conversation.

"We didn't exactly elope, Rose," she explained, smiling. "Mary and Edith were at our wedding, and we had Papa's permission." Rose looked rather disappointed, but brightened up when Edith and Anthony came over, followed by Mary and Matthew. Sybil introduced the two men to Rose.

Rose looked them over with interest. She had been imaging her cousins' husbands since she had heard of their weddings, and had been looking forward to meeting them. Anthony was even older than she had imagined. Her father had told her that he was older than Edith, but to Rose, he looked ancient. However, he seemed nice enough, if a little dull, and the adoring looks he gave Edith made Rose almost jealous.

Matthew she found more interesting. Her father had said Mary had married Cousin Robert's crippled heir, and had speculated that it was probably for the money and position. This had led Rose to expect a sickly, boring man, possibly horribly disfigured. She had not expected someone healthy and strong looking, who was in fact remarkable handsome. She was immediately entranced by his strikingly blue eyes, and despite the fact that he was over ten years older than her, she couldn't help wondering what it would be like to be loved by someone so attractive. And Terrence was older, she thought to herself. But she ought not to think of Terrence now, or she might say something to give herself away, and she didn't know what she would do if anyone found out about him.

It didn't cross her mind to pity Matthew for his disability, like so many people seemed to and which drove him mad. Instead, Rose though him a hero, and though it terribly romantic that Mary had married him anyway. This, to her, was true love, love that could overcome any obstacle, and which seemed so fitting for her beautiful cousin and her handsome husband.

Over dinner, Rose talked enthusiastically about plans for shopping trips to Ripon or York, swimming in the pond like she remembered doing when she had stayed at Downton as a child, and having picnics in the grounds and the countryside. Robert and Cora smiled at each other, remembering what it was like to have young girls in the house; the excitement, but also the amount of energy it took.

"And of course I can't wait for the cricket game," Rose said, finishing her long list of things she couldn't wait for. Robert was immediately far more interested in the conversation than he had previously been.

"Yes, that is always the highlight of the summer at Downton," he said proudly. "We'll beat the village team this year," he predicted confidently. Cora rolled her eyes.

"You say that every year, and they always win," she reminded him, smiling.

"Not always," Robert insisted. "Usually, but not always."

"And when was the last time the house team won?" Isobel asked.

"I… erm… 1909," Robert admitted. "But we didn't play during the war, so that's only six years they've beaten us. We've got an excellent team this year, we're sure to win. You are staying until then, aren't you?" he asked Tom.

Tom looked at him bewildered. What did that have to do with anything?

"Because if you aren't here, we won't have a full team," Robert continued.

Tom stared at his father-in-law. Surely he must have misunderstood? But no, it was clear that Robert expected him to take part in the cricket match. He almost laughed.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realise you thought I'd be playing. I won't be," he said.

"Don't be silly, of course you will," Robert said, confused.

"No, I won't," Tom said apologetically. "I'd like to help, but I've never played a game of cricket in my life. Oddly, the game was never part of my childhood."

"But didn't you play last year?" Robert asked.

"I wasn't here last year," Tom replied. He doubted he would have been welcome at the match a year ago, having recently married Sybil and made an enemy of Robert as an unintended consequence. "The fact is, I've never played cricket."

"But couldn't you try?" Robert asked, but Cora had had enough.

"Robert, stop being such a bully. Let's just have a nice dinner. What sort of family must Rose think she's agreed to stay the summer with?"

Robert looked to Matthew for support, but Matthew simply smiled and shrugged. Robert gave up, but resolved that he was not beaten yet; there was plenty of time left to convince Tom.

* * *

After dinner, instead of sitting in the drawing room while they waited for the men, Sybil took an impatient Rose upstairs to see Emmeline. It felt rather surreal to Rose, being led upstairs to see Sybil's baby. Sybil, who was only a few years older than her, but who was married with a child, and living in another country.

Rose followed Sybil into the nursery, and smiled brightly at the shy looking nanny.

"I reckon she's about ready for a feed, mi' Lady," the nanny said quietly to Sybil. Rose blushed deeply; she hadn't thought of this particular aspect of being a mother.

"Do you mind?" Sybil asked Rose. "It won't embarrass you?"

"No, of course not. Oh, but please let me hold her first," Rose almost begged. Sybil smiled and walked over to the bassinet where Emmeline was lying. She picked her up gently and held her up for Rose to see.

"Oh, she's beautiful!" Rose breathed, looking at the tiny fingers and the tiny rosebud lips. "What is her middle name again, the Irish one?"

"Saoirse," Sybil said proudly. "It means freedom."

"It suits her somehow, although of course it's impossible to know what she'll be like when she's older. _Please_ may I hold her? I'll be very careful, I promise," Rose asked.

"Perhaps you should sit down," Sybil suggested. It wasn't that she distrusted her cousin, but Rose was so young and inexperienced with babies, and Emmeline was so infinitely precious. Rose obeyed immediately and sat on the sofa Sybil usually sat on to nurse Emmeline. Sybil sat next to her and handed Emmeline carefully to her.

Rose held the tiny baby and looked at her with awe. How was it that Sybil was so grown up that she had created a whole new person with her husband?

And Mary and Edith were married too, and to husbands whom they clearly adored, and who adored them. She had caught Mary and Matthew smiling at each other across the table as if they were communicating in a secret language that only they understood. She had listened to the way Edith and Anthony practically finished each other's sentences. She watched their habitual intimacy with their husbands and imagined them growing old to be exactly like Cousin Robert and Cousin Cora, and so many other older married couple. So unlike her parents. But she wasn't going to think of her parents now. She had escaped from their constant arguing and her mother's constant scolding for the summer, and she meant to make the most of it.

Then Emmeline began to cry and Sybil scooped her out of Rose's arms and fiddled with her dress to undo it and allow Emmeline to nurse. Rose tried to avert her eyes, but she found it fascinating that the part of her body that she thought of only as a way of attracting men had a proper purpose. She knew her own mother had never nursed her, and had never imagined doing it herself. But Sybil looked very natural and happy doing it.

"Do you remember all those conversations we used to have in bed late at night when we were little?" Rose asked after a while. "How we used to wonder what it was like to be in love and to… be with a man?"

"You must have been so young, I ought not to have discussed it with you," Sybil said, laughing as she remembered their hopelessly inaccurate guesses at what it might be like to be with a man. Nothing they had ever imagined had ever been close to the bliss of being loved by a man whom one loved back.

"Sybil?" Rose asked after a pause. "What is it like to be with a man?"

Sybil blushed slightly and looked around as if to check there was nobody listening, although she knew perfectly well that they were alone. The nanny must have gone down to the servants' hall for some company, as she often did when Sybil came to the nursery in the evening.

"You're seventeen, Rose. You have plenty of time to find out for yourself," Sybil said, although she sensed that it was inevitable that she would end up telling Rose about it anyway.

"I'm eighteen, actually, as of last month. And you were happy enough to speculate about it when I was much younger. Please Sybil, we used to tell each other everything. Don't let marriage put an end to that," Rose asked.

Sybil sighed and was about to begin to speak when she remembered Emmeline. She was reluctant to talk about something so … adult with a baby in the room. Yet she told herself that this was beyond ridiculous, since it would be many, many months before Emmeline would be able to understand speech properly.

"Being in love is the most wonderful sensation in the world," Sybil began, remembering when Tom had first started to stir up new and exciting feelings in her. She remembered the way a glance from him could make her feel warm and strange. "It is as if a new part of you had been woken up, a part that has been there all the time, but which only awakens when that person is there. I thought of precious little else, even though when I fell in love with Tom, there was a war on. A horrible day could become a brilliant one if he only smiled at me, or held my hand a little longer than usual when he handed me out of the car."

"I think I should rather like to fall in love with a quite unsuitable man, like your Tom. You prove that it's not necessarily a bad thing, and it seems so terribly romantic…" Rose said wistfully, imagining a faceless but handsome man who would sweep her off her feet and carry her away from home and her parents and boring old convention and tradition. Perhaps he would be a farmer, or a dashing soldier, or a servant…

"You've been reading romantic novels, haven't you Rose?" Sybil said, cutting across Rose's pleasant imaginings. Rose smirked guiltily.

"A few. My maid gets them for me. Mummy would kill us both if she found out, but we're careful. But they're not too shocking, and it's not as if I'm innocent and likely to be corrupted by them," Rose said, giggling in a way which made her sound very innocent and young. Her next question, however, was certainly not innocent. "So tell me what it's like, Sybil, to be… intimate with a man."

"I refuse to tell you any details, Rose. Those you must discover on your wedding night. But I will simply say that a man can give you more pleasure and joy than you ever thought possible. It is impossible to describe in words, really, but it is the most wonderful sensation imaginable. There, that is all I will tell you. The rest you will discover when you marry."

Rose thought for a minute about what Sybil had said. She was desperate to know more, but at the same time didn't want to destroy the romantic air of mystery that surrounded men.

"How long did you love Tom before you were married?" she asked after a while.

Sybil thought for a moment.

"Two years, perhaps? Three? I had liked him for much longer, but I didn't really think of him in that way until he told me he loved me. At the time, it seemed quite unexpected and almost frightening. But when I thought about it, I realised there had been signs for a long time, and I realised that I had been thinking of him more than one usually thinks about chauffeurs."

"He's terribly handsome, and his accent is so lovely," Rose said. "But then, I always expected you to marry a handsome man. Mary too. Perhaps not so much Edith. Anyway, how old _is_ Anthony?" she asked interestedly.

"I don't know precisely," Sybil answered slowly. "But I think he's a couple of years older than Papa."

"Does Edith really love him? He didn't seem like a terribly… exciting man, and he really is quite old. And with only one arm that works, he can't even cut up his own meat at dinner."

"She does love him, very much. I can't pretend to know why, but she does. She's loved him since before the war. I think he suits her and she suits him. And anyway, it's not so unusual to marry an older man. And after a while, I promise you will barely notice his arm," Sybil said.

"I suppose you're right. But even so, I don't know what she sees in him. Mary's husband though, he is wonderfully handsome. His eyes are amazing, I could look at them all day. And he has such lovely blond hair…"

Sybil snorted with laughter.

"Don't tell me you've already got a crush on Matthew! Honestly Rose…" Sybil began, but Rose interrupted.

"No, no I haven't. He's just so… handsome, and heroic, being injured fighting in the war like that. And Mary seems like a different person with him. She's still beautiful and strong and elegant, but she seems… softer. She didn't marry him just because he's Cousin Robert's heir, did she? I mean, it's obvious they're in love. And he seems terribly nice too."

"They've been in love for years, but things kept getting in the way of them being together. No, anyone who thinks theirs is a marriage of convenience is either blind, stupid or both," Sybil said.

Rose thought for a moment. "What exactly is wrong with his legs? I mean, I know it was the war, but he looks so strong. Why can't he walk? " she asked curiously.

Sybil sighed. "He broke his back. He's paralysed from the waist down, which means he can't move or feel his legs."

"What, not at all?" Rose asked, fascinated. Having not been in contact with any wounded soldiers during the war because she lived in the middle of nowhere in the Highlands, it interested her as it did not most young women, who had seen so many injured men in the four years of war.

"No," Sybil replied shortly. She wasn't sure how much of a right she had to talk about Matthew like this.

"So he could… break his leg, and not feel anything?" Rose persisted, wide-eyed in her interest.

"Yes, I suppose so," Sybil said. Rose thought about it and found the whole concept of having a large part of your body you couldn't feel rather strange. However, she sensed Sybil's reluctance to continue the conversation. She rose.

"I don't think I ought to neglect everyone on my first night. I suppose I should go downstairs," she said, and left the nursery to return to the drawing room. Sybil stayed in the nursery with Emmeline, enjoying the wonderful intimacy of being alone with her daughter.

Rose slipped into the drawing room, smiling brightly, and went to sit on the sofa next to Mary. Mary, Matthew, Tom, Anthony and Edith were siting slightly apart from the older members of the family and talking about, as far as Rose could tell, farming. Rose found this subject rather tedious, knowing nothing and caring less about it, so at the next break in the conversation, she launched into her plans for the next few weeks.

"The weather doesn't look promising for tomorrow, but as soon as we get some sun, we should go on our picnic," she said enthusiastically. "We can have strawberries and cream, and pork pies, and champagne!"

Mary rolled her eyes at Matthew. "I don't think anyone but Sybil actually agreed to your proposition, Rose."

"Do you mean a picnic on a blanket on the ground, with a hamper and everything?" Edith asked before Rose had a chance to reply to Mary, getting quite excited as she remembered all the picnics they had all enjoyed when they were children.

"Honestly, Edith, can you imagine Granny doing that? Of course we aren't going to sit on a blanket on the ground," Mary scoffed. Rose, however, looked surprised at her response.

"Yes, we are. That is precisely what I meant! It will be such fun, Mary. Oh, do say you'll come!" Rose said, surprised that anyone could think a picnic was anything other than what Edith had described. "And I didn't mean for Aunt Violet and everyone to come. Couldn't we go, just us young people?" she added.

Anthony frowned. He assumed he was being included in the category of 'young people' despite the fact he was older than Robert. It seemed to him faintly ridiculous, and he wasn't sure how much he relished sitting on the hard ground for hours, even in the beautiful sunshine. Edith guessed his thoughts and squeezed his leg gently, hoping nobody would notice this open display of intimacy. She had always scorned Mary for doing similar things with Matthew, and didn't want to be caught.

Mary, however, was not paying any attention to her sister. She was not certain that she wanted to sit on the ground; it was hardly dignified, and she and Matthew were the future Earl and Countess of Grantham. Their dignity mattered. It had been one thing to have picnics with Rose when they had all been younger, but now Rose, the youngest, was eighteen and almost ready for her first Season, and she, Edith and Sybil were married women now, not girls.

Matthew spoke before she had time to voice her objections.

"Of course we'll come, Rose, won't we Mary?" he said definitely.

Mary didn't know what to say. She didn't want to appear as if she was being boring, but really, sitting on the ground? She was almost thirty years old. But Matthew clearly wanted to, and she was hardly going to stay away from him and let him go without her, or stop him going. And anyway, what did it matter really? It had been such a long time since she had done something like it, and perhaps it would be fun.

"Alright," Mary acceded, and Matthew reached out to squeeze her hand.

"Oh, excellent!" Rose exclaimed. "I can hardly wait!"

* * *

"Here," Rose said, and set down the blanket she had been carrying. The spot she had selected was a flat area of grass by an old oak tree, overlooking the small lake, which glittered in the bright sunlight so that it seemed as if it was a pool of molten light, dancing and shimmering. The tree provided shade for anyone who found the sun to hot, and to keep the food and drinks as cool as possible. They had refused any assistance from the servants, and had carried everything down themselves, which gave them a wonderful sense of freedom and independence.

Sybil had brought Emmeline down with them in her new perambulator, not being able to bear to leave her for even a few hours. Edith carried cushions for Anthony to sit on, which he insisted was unnecessary, but she insisted was entirely necessary for his comfort. Matthew carried on his lap the great picnic hamper, and Mary pushed his chair, while Rose carried blankets to sit on. Tom carried the basket filled with drinks, and ice to keep them cool.

They laid out the blankets and cushions and their little picnic area looked comfortable and perfect for sitting around on a summer afternoon. Rose sat down, then flopped back on the cushions, sighing with happiness. Edith and Anthony sat down carefully on cushions at the edge of the blanket. Mary couldn't refrain, however hard she tried, from rolling her eyes slightly as Edith fussed around Anthony, asking if he was comfortable, if he needed more cushions.

Sybil took Emmeline out of the perambulator and lifted her high in the air, very carefully, then lay her down on the blanket to kick freely and make gurgling baby noises which made both Sybil and Tom look at her adoringly. Edith pursed her lips and looked away, jealous, although she hated to admit it. There was still no sign of a baby, and even looking at Emmeline brought on another wave of longing for a child of her own.

Mary left Matthew's chair as near to the blankets as possible, then stood around a little awkwardly, not wanting to sit on the ground.

"Go on, darling, sit down," Matthew encouraged. "Who's going to see you and judge you? We're alone, and I promise you none of us think it's undignified. And new experiences are good for you, remember."

"It's not a new experience, Matthew, just one I haven't had for a few years, so it doesn't count," Mary argued, but even as she spoke, she carefully lowered herself to the ground and sat gracefully on the edge of the blanket. Matthew smiled. He could think of no one else who could possibly look so elegant in that position.

They proceeded to begin eating their picnic, relishing the delicious feast Mrs Patmore had prepared for them. There were sandwiches and cake and fruit, including fresh strawberries. In the drinks bag, they discovered champagne, and they all had large glasses of it. Rose was not accustomed to drinking much, but in order not to appear young and childish to her cousins, and particularly to Tom, Anthony and Matthew, she drank as much as the other ladies did.

Mary passed food up to Matthew, since he couldn't reach the hamper from his chair. Matthew tried to join in the conversation, but felt separated from the others, and wished he could sit down with them. Sybil and Tom were leaning over Emmeline together, looking alternately at each other and the baby. Edith was sitting very close to Anthony with her arm around him slightly. But Matthew couldn't even reach to touch Mary hair.

He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn't notice Mary was speaking to him at first.

"Matthew? Are you listening?" she asked, smiling as he blinked and nodded, as if that would convince her. "No, you're not. Tell me what you're thinking," she asked quietly, shuffling closer to him.

"Oh, nothing," he lied, reaching out to stroke her silky chocolate brown hair now she was close enough. She hummed with contentment, but wasn't going to give up that easily.

"Don't you lie to me, Matthew Crawley," she said softly, coming even closer and resting her head on his leg. He couldn't feel it, but he was used to that now, and the fact that she was close was enough to make him sigh happily.

"I was thinking how much I'd like you in my arms," he replied, and Mary felt herself blush slightly.

"You know, I was thinking something similar, if you'd only been listening. I was asking whether you wanted to come down here and sit with me? I want you to so terribly much, my darling. You're so far away up there."

"I'm not sure that's going to work, Mary," Matthew said gently. "How would I get down and then back in my chair again? And you know I can't really sit on the ground without support; I'll just lose my balance and look like a fool." Mary thought for a moment. Surely between her and Sybil, they could lift Matthew? And if she put her arm around him, he should be able to sit on the ground.

"Sybil?" she asked. Sybil jumped and tore her eyes away from Emmeline to look at Mary.

"Yes?"

"Do you think you could help me get Matthew down from his chair to sit with us?" Mary asked.

"Oh, of course," Sybil said, smiling and rising. But Tom grabbed her wrist.

"No, Sybil," he said. "You're only just well again after Emmeline. I'll not have you hurt yourself." Then he addressed Matthew. "Can I help? Just tell me what to do," he said, rising as Sybil sat down again.

"No, really, it's alright, don't bother," Matthew muttered, slightly embarrassed.

"It's no bother," Tom assured him, smiling.

Between the two of them, Mary and Tom managed to lower Matthew to the ground. He put his hands on the ground to keep himself steady and thanked Tom.

"It's nothing," Tom assured him.

Mary put her arm firmly behind Matthew's back so he didn't have to use both hands to stay upright, and kissed his neck. She slowly moved her tongue up towards his ear and he sighed as she explored the sensitive skin there with her soft wet tongue, warm and smooth and almost maddeningly sensual.

Mary would have continued, but Matthew nudged her and she stopped, realising that Rose was watching with a sort of fascination. Mary blushed, and Rose, realising that they had seen her looking, did the same. For a moment (well, quite a few moments) Mary had all but forgotten that the others existed, thinking only of her darling Matthew, but now she remembered there were five other people there, six if Emmeline counted, and it was not appropriate to behave like that with Matthew.

"Sorry," Rose said ashamedly. "I wasn't watching, I was just…" she broke off, unsure what exactly she had been doing if not watching.

"Watching," Mary finished for her. Rose looked away. She felt rather left out with all her cousins having husbands to keep them company instead of needing her.

"I'm going for a walk," she announced, and stood up abruptly. "Anyone coming?" Edith looked at Anthony, who nodded, and they both rose, Edith helping Anthony up, and went after Rose. The others stayed where they were.

For a few minutes, Mary sat leaning on Matthew's shoulder, enjoying being so close to him with no one to tell her to behave 'properly'. After a while though, she felt his arms beginning to shake, and always alert to his comfort, she looked at him sharply.

"Why don't you lie down?" she asked quietly, but Matthew shook his head.

"No, I'm fine."

"I'll lie down too. Come on."

Matthew sighed. "Alright." He lowered himself down and lay on his back. Mary kissed his forehead, then drew away to lie down with his arm around her.

"Is that all I get?" Matthew asked. "Rose isn't here to watch." Mary laughed, and leaned over him to kiss him properly on the mouth, a long, lingering kiss, tasting champagne on his tongue as it met hers. She ran her fingers through his soft blond hair, untamed by pomade today, and wonderfully wild and blown about by the slight breeze. He reached up to her hair, messing up Anna's careful twists and curls. For once, Mary didn't mind; there was something about today that made it feel as if the usual rules didn't apply, and she didn't care in the least if her hair fell down and escaped its pins. She could always pin it up simply before they went back to the house, and no one but Anna would notice the difference, hopefully.

Eventually, Matthew drew away.

"God, I love you Mary," he breathed.

"No more than I love you," she replied in the same quiet tone.

Then Emmeline began to cry, and they were reminded again of Sybil and Tom's presence. Sybil picked her daughter up from the rug and bounced her up and down in her arms carefully. It didn't take long for Emmeline to stop crying, and as Sybil began to rock her more gently, she fell asleep. Sybil carefully lay her back in the perambulator, then flopped back to lie down on the rug. Tom did the same.

The four of them lay in silence for a few minutes, listening to the birdsong and the rustling of the leaves in the tree above them in the slight breeze.

"You're serious about not playing cricket, aren't you?" Matthew asked Tom after a while.

"I've said from the start," Tom said irritably, "I've never played cricket in my life. I can't play."

"You know, I think Robert might look more favourably on you if you did. It means a lot to him, you know, and he really is beginning to accept you as his son-in-law. You don't want to jeopardise that now," Matthew said reasonably.

"I know, but I don't know how to play, how many times do I have to explain? When did you learn to play?" Tom demanded. Matthew thought for a minute. He could hardly remember not being able to play.

"When I was ten, perhaps?" he said uncertainly. Tom looked pleased with himself; he had proved his point.

"Exactly," he said. "It's too late for me now. I've only got a few weeks, even if there was someone to teach me.

"Really, Tom, it would mean so much to Papa," Sybil said gently.

"Oh, not you as well!" Tom exclaimed. He had thought Sybil understood, that she wouldn't push him to do something he so clearly didn't want to do. Clearly he had been wrong.

"But if there was someone to teach you the rules and how to hold a bat and all that, could you not have a go?" Mary asked, turning around to look at Tom.

"Now you're all ganging up on me!" Tom complained. "I. Can. Not. Play. Cricket. I don't know how, and who would teach me anyway? Lord Grantham wouldn't, and it's just too awkward with the servants. Mr Carson still hasn't forgiven me for marrying Sybil, and everyone else still doesn't quite know how to behave with me."

"I will," Matthew said. The other three turned to stare at him.

"What?" Tom asked stupidly.

"I will teach you to play cricket, and then you will have no excuse not to."

* * *

 _ **Thank you again for every review, follow and favourite. They are by far the nicest emails I get each week, and it's great to know that there are people enjoying my story.**_

 _ **We are coming to the end of this story; I think there will be about two more chapters. However, I am already planning a sequel, which will be set roughly a year later.**_


	39. Chapter 39

"Is this worth it?" Tom asked hopelessly as he missed yet another ball. He felt like a fool standing on the lawn in his shirt and waistcoat, failing miserably to get any better, despite Matthew's patient efforts. "I've no time to learn anything. Couldn't I just trust to beginners' luck?"

He threw the ball back to Matthew, who caught it easily, making Tom slightly envious.

"Certainly not," Matthew replied, smiling. "I want you to profit from my skills, or they'll be completely wasted. Everyone else is playing, Bates is keeping score; the only way I can help is by teaching you." He bowled again. It felt odd doing it sitting down, but he had been pleased to discover that it wasn't impossible, and that he hadn't lost his ability to throw and catch a ball. He didn't know what had made him volunteer to teach Tom when he hadn't even touched a cricket ball since before the war; the words were out of his mouth before he could think about it very hard. But it was surprisingly enjoyable to do something active. The fact that Tom had never played before made it easier too, as it meant that despite his limitations, he was the best player.

But even though he was enjoying being the best, he truly did want Tom to improve. Tom, however, missed again.

"Elbow up," Matthew reminded him.

"You won't make a gentleman of me, you know," Tom said as he picked the ball up and threw it back. "You can teach me to fish, to ride and to shoot, but I'll still be an Irish Mick in my heart."

"So I should hope," Matthew replied, grinning. "Robert's already tried teaching you to shoot, and it hasn't changed you. And I don't think there's much chance I'll be teaching you to ride, so I think you're safe. Now concentrate." He bowled again, and this time Tom hit the ball.

"There! See? You're getting the hang of it," Matthew said.

"Well done, Tom!" Sybil called from the bench where she and Mary were sitting to watch.

"Yes, well done," Mary said encouragingly. She had been as surprised as anyone else when Matthew had offered to teach Tom, but it seemed to be going well. She was impressed at the way Matthew could throw and catch so easily from his wheelchair, and she had to admit, she was enjoying watching him. He had taken off his jacket, waistcoat and tie, and had rolled the sleeves of his shirt up in a way which showed off his strong muscles. His hair kept falling down into his eyes, and his cheeks were flushed with the exercise.

She was glad he was doing something this year, since the year before he had felt miserable and useless, being unable to take part in the game. She knew it was hard for him, when he had been so good at it before, to watch everyone else playing while he had to sit at the side-lines. He had tortured himself by insisting that he stay and watch the whole match, even though it was blindingly obvious that he hated it and would rather have been almost anywhere else. Perhaps this year, with Tom playing, he would enjoy it.

Sybil returned the ball to Matthew. Instead of going back to the bench however, she paused.

"I think Tom ought to practise catching and throwing and running as well as batting," she suggested.

"I agree," Matthew said, "but we need at least one other person to do it properly. I did ask William, but he's too busy. I didn't want to make a fuss and end up in Carson's bad books."

"You already have _two_ other people," Sybil said, smiling at the similar looks of bewilderment on Matthew and Tom's faces. "Mary and I."

The two men looked at her incredulously. Sybil took the bat from Tom and nodded at Matthew to bowl. He smiled and did as she wanted, and Sybil hit the ball well over twice as far as Tom had. She smirked and looked satisfied with herself, then gestured for Mary to come and try. She went to fetch the ball and gave it to Matthew, who was looking at her, impressed.

Mary hit the ball even further, much to Tom and Matthew's surprise, and she and Sybil stood together to face their husbands.

"I think we've proved that we're perfectly capable of helping," Sybil said triumphantly.

Matthew laughed.

"I don't know why I'm surprised. You are Robert's daughters after all. I suppose Edith's equally good and you spent days and days of every summer playing when you were children."

"Edith is not _equally_ good," Mary insisted, "but yes, she's competent, and yes, we spent a long time playing when we were small. With Patrick mainly; there were no other boys his age around here to play with him, so he recruited us, and over the years, we gained some skill, much to Papa's delight, although of course we were never allowed to play if anyone was watching."

"Is there anything you can't do darling?" Matthew asked Mary jokingly. She went over to him and whispered in his ear,

"Resist you. I really am quite terrible at that, and I'm afraid I'll never improve."

"I'm not sure I ever _want_ you to improve," he murmured, and he pulled Mary down for a kiss. She draped herself across his lap and retuned his kiss, shivering with pleasure and happiness as his arms tightened around her. He was warm from the hot day and the exercise, and without his jacket and waistcoat, she could feel his strong muscles through his shirt. They might have remained like that indefinitely, but Tom cleared his throat loudly when it became clear that they weren't going to break apart without prompting.

"Come on, there's time for that later," Sybil said. "Tom has only a few weeks to learn cricket."

Mary tore herself away, and they continued their practising.

From the window in the library, Robert was watching them. When Matthew had informed him that he had persuaded Tom to take part in the cricket match, he had been overjoyed. When Matthew had gone on to inform him that he himself was going to teach Tom though, Robert had been unable to hide the surprise and confusion he felt. He remembered from the match in 1913 that Matthew had been good at cricket, possibly the best of everyone in the house team. But he hadn't been able to see how Matthew could help Tom now. He had been enthusiastically supportive of the plan, however, seeing how happy Matthew looked at the prospect, and knowing that this was the only way he was going to get Tom to take part.

So he had decided to watch them from the house, not telling them that he was doing so for fear of making Tom nervous. He was surprised and amazed that Matthew could still throw and catch as well as he had ever been able to, and he watched happily as Tom quickly improved.

He was not pleased, however, when Sybil, then Mary joined in. He had indulged them when they were children, partly because he had been proud of their natural aptitude for the game and had enjoyed teaching them, and partly because there were very few young boys of the right class in the neighbourhood for Patrick to play with when he stayed at Downton. Now though, they were married Ladies, and playing cricket on the lawn was not an appropriate activity for them anymore. Mary was the future Countess of Grantham, and even though Sybil had married into the working classes, she was still the daughter of an earl.

Despite his reservations though, he couldn't help being proud of how well both his daughters could still play when they had not practised in years, and when he saw that it was helping Tom, he began to wonder if he was being ridiculous. He wanted Tom to learn, and he was learning. And who was going to see them, other than family or servants? They looked as if they were enjoying themselves, and that made him happier than he could say. They had been through too much recently, what with Matthew almost dying of pneumonia, the discovery that there was no heir to the estate, and then Sybil's traumatic labour. It was wonderful to see them looking happy and healthy.

He may not say it, or even think it often enough, but he loved them. All of them, including Tom, his former chauffeur. If someone had suggested even a year ago that he might feel this way, he would have laughed at them. Yet now, it did not seem wrong or strange.

He had always imagined how he would bring a son up, teach him about the estate and how to be the Earl of Grantham, teach him to ride and to play cricket, watch him grow up and marry and have a son of his own. Each time Cora fell pregnant, he would elaborate on this fantasy, and he was disappointed time and time again; with each of the three girls, whom he loved fiercely, but who were not sons; with each year that went by after Sybil's birth when there was no pregnancy; with Cora's miscarriage; and finally with the conversation with Cora when she had told him that there truly was no hope of another child.

And yet, he looked out the window at Tom and Matthew, and he knew that he did have a son. He had two. He had missed seeing them grow up, but he had not missed teaching Matthew how to be Earl, and here Tom was learning to play cricket on the lawn. It was not blood that was important, but love and affection, and that, he had for both of them.

Of course, there was Anthony too. While he couldn't claim to think of Anthony as his son (one couldn't have a son who was older than oneself), he was grateful to the man for making Edith happy, and Anthony really had become part of the family. Edith and Anthony were both absent today, as they were taking Rose to a nearby market, giving Violet a break from Rose's constant loud and lively presence.

Robert smiled as Tom hit the ball high in the air. It was not a brilliant hit, and with a full team waiting to catch it, it would have been easy to get Tom out. But it was an improvement on the many misses Robert had watched in the past half-hour, and he could hear Sybil, Mary and Matthew cheering. Perhaps his dream of winning the cricket match this year would come true. With Tom improving quickly, and the rest of the team already being, in his opinion, better than most of the village team, things were looking hopeful.

* * *

The next day, cricket practise was put on hold, as Matthew and Tom both had work to do. Tom, while he and Sybil were staying at Downton, was still writing, and was sending his work back through the post to his editor. While it was easy to forget while they lived in luxury at Downton, it really was necessary if they were not to starve when they went back to Ireland. It was going to be hard for a few months anyway, as Sybil wouldn't be able to work until Emmeline was old enough to be left with a friend or relative.

When Rose went up to the house with Violet for afternoon tea, the absence of her cousins and their husbands provided a perfect excuse to slip away from her older family members, supposedly to find Sybil. She looked around her when she left the library, then, when she was certain nobody was watching, she went into the small library and shut the door behind her as quietly as she could. She found paper and a pen and sat down. She stared at the blank page and chewed the end of the pen. She had to write it here because at Aunt Violet's house, there was the constant fear of someone finding her, and Aunt Violet always wanted to know everything that was going on. Rose was fairly certain the servants were spying on her. This was a much larger house and its occupants were less interested in her private business. At Aunt Violet's house, it would surely be noticed if she had a letter to post, but here, she could just give her letter to a servant and no questions would be asked. With everyone else in the main library having tea, she doubted she would be disturbed here.

 _My dearest Terrence,_ she began, then stopped. It always seemed so much easier to talk to Terrence than to write to him. In fact, now she thought about it, she barely ever talked to him even when they were together. He seemed to do all the necessary talking, about how beautiful she was, about his awful wife and the difficulties of getting a divorce, and about… well, she couldn't really think of anything else they talked about. All she ever had to do was smile and laugh, and he would kiss her. The idea of writing love letters to him seemed like such a romantic one, but in reality, it was difficult and time-consuming. She had been planning this for days, but all she had planned was her escape from the watchful eyes of Aunt Violet. The letter itself she had assumed would come easily. That was not the case. She sighed, and began to write again.

 _I am so terribly sorry I could not meet you in London, my love, but nobody here is going there any time in the near future, and I'm afraid there's no hope they'll let me escape there on my own. I think of you every day, and hope with all my heart that you will be able to get a divorce soon, although of course I will wait for you forever if necessary. I love you so much._

Then she stopped again. What else was there to say? Why was it that heroines in novels always seemed to know precisely what to say and write to their heroes?

She put down her pen and sighed. She needed to use the bathroom. Perhaps a few minutes break would do her good. She found some tedious looking documents that she doubted anyone would need anytime soon and used them to cover her letter until she came back, although she doubted anyone would look in here in the minute or so she would be out of the room.

* * *

Mary stood behind Matthew, massaging his shoulders as he worked at his desk. She looked absent-mindedly out of the window at the grounds and though about nothing in particular, but was aware of being happy and calm, enjoying the companionable silence with Matthew, even though his attention was elsewhere, on some complicated land dispute he had been working on all day, and the day before. He was working hard, but she could tell he was enjoying it. He always complained, but she knew that the more complicated the problem was, the more he enjoyed solving it.

The rest of the family were having tea in the library, but Matthew had said he was just making progress and didn't want to stop working, and she didn't want to end this peaceful time, so she had stayed with him.

She started when Matthew sighed in frustration, stopped writing and spoke to her.

"I think I left some papers in the small library," he said.

"I'll get them. Where are they?" she replied instantly.

"On the table. They're the only papers there as far as I know, so they shouldn't be hard to find. Thank you, darling," he said as she left the room.

She was soon back with the large pile of papers and she set them down on the edge of the desk.

"I hope they're the right ones," she said.

Matthew flicked quickly through them. "Yes, thank you. No, wait, what's this?" he asked curiously, coming to a loose piece of paper at the bottom of the pile which he did not recognise. Mary took it and read it through, her eyes widening as she read the few short lines.

"Who on earth is Terrence?" she muttered to herself.

"Pardon?" Matthew asked.

"It's a letter addressed to a man named Terrence. A… a love letter, as far as I can see," she said, and she passed it back to Matthew. He read it, then asked,

"Whose handwriting is it?"

Mary squinted at. It looked familiar, but she knew it didn't belong to any of the immediate family. She thought for a moment, then it dawned on her.

"Rose's."

"She won't be pleased we've read it," Matthew observed.

"It's a good job we did. What on earth is going on? Does she have a lover? She's only eighteen. Oh, the silly girl. I'm going to fetch her and make her tell me what this is all about," Mary said, and marched out the room.

* * *

Rose was horrified when she returned to find her letter gone. Who had taken it? A servant? But then she thought about it. The other papers had gone too. Perhaps whoever had taken them had accidentally picked up her letter as well. She felt sick. What should she do? She couldn't ask anyone.

She stood in by the table for a minute, then decided all she could do was go back to the rest of the family and act as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

She entered the library quietly and sat on a chair next to Sybil, who had left Tom alone to finish his writing so she could see Rose, and not appear rude to her Granny. Rose forced herself to return her cousin's smile, but it was a struggle to look normal under the circumstances.

Mary came into the room, greeted everyone politely, declined the offer of tea, then fixed her eyes on Rose. From the expression on her face, Rose was certain she had read the letter.

"Rose, I have something I want to show you. Will you come?" she asked casually, all the while fixing Rose with a stare that made Rose treble a little as she stood up to follow Mary. Mary led her to her and Matthew's sitting room, where Rose had never been before. Rose looked around her, liking the cosy feel of the room and all the books. But before she had time to take it all in, Mary had turned on her, brandishing the letter in her hand. Matthew sat behind her, looking rather sternly at Rose.

"Explain," Mary said simply. She sat down on the sofa and gestured for Rose to do likewise. Rose sat, but didn't answer.

"Who is Terrence?" Mary asked sternly.

"Terrence Margadale. He's… he's… he used to work for my father."

"And?" Matthew prompted. Rose swallowed.

"And I'm in love with him, and he's in love with me. And don't say anything about impropriety. He's married, but he says he will marry me as soon as he can divorce his wife."

"And have you any idea how long that will take?" Matthew asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Well, you see, it's terribly complicated and difficult. But his wife is horrid, and I'm sure he will divorce her eventually."

"Married men who want to seduce young women always have horrid wives," Matthew said cynically.

Rose didn't know what to say to this.

"How far has it gone, Rose?" Mary asked seriously. "Has he… taken advantage of you?"

Rose blinked, and to Mary's infinite relief, looked shocked and answered, "Lord, no, he would never do that. We've kissed a few times, but that's all."

"How long has it been going on?" Mary demanded.

"Three, no, four months. But truly, we love each other deeply and we want to marry, if he could only get a divorce. Four months is long enough to know you have found the perfect man. Did you two not know at once that you were right for each other?" Rose asked them.

Mary and Matthew looked at each other and burst out laughing, breaking the tense atmosphere. Matthew remembered his and Mary's reactions to each other when they had first met. Oh God, why had he said that about the daughters being pushed at him? He must have sounded like such a pompous, self-righteous prig, he could hardly blame Mary for disliking him a first. And although he had always found her beautiful, he had tried to convince himself that he disliked her for quite a while before allowing himself to feel something else.

"Not quite at once," Matthew said in when he had stopped laughing enough to be able to speak. "You should have seen us when we first met."

"Sea monster," Mary said affectionately. Rose looked confused.

"Just one of the many insults that my dear wife used in the first year or so of our acquaintance," Matthew explained. "And I suppose I must say I sometimes deserved it."

" _Usually_ deserved it," Mary corrected. "But I can't claim I wasn't horrid to you." She took Matthew's hand and smiled at him. Then she remembered what the conversation was supposed to be about, and she turned back to Rose, wearing a stern expression again.

"We are not a good example, and that is not relevant to the conversation anyway. Rose, you've not even had your Season yet. You've hardly met any men. How can you be so sure that you love this Terrence Margadale?" Mary asked.

"I just know," Rose replied defiantly. Then she looked at them pleadingly. "Please, please don't tell Aunt Violet. She'll write to my mother, and I'll be sent back up to Scotland alone, or something horrid like that."

"Well you can hardly expect us to do nothing, Rose, with this going on. You clearly haven't a clue what you're doing," Mary said.

"I have! I know that I love Terrence, and that he loves me, and that he would marry me now if he could. If only it weren't for that horrid wife of his."

"I suggest you meet his wife before you make your mind up about her," Matthew said.

"Rose, think hard before you answer. Are you in love with this man, or are you in love with the idea of being in love? Because believe me, I know what it is to feel like that, to feel as if you are wanted, to feel lust, and... and a need for excitement. I might seem old to you now, but it wasn't so very long ago I was your age," Mary said.

"Of course I don't think you're old. But Terrence is so… handsome and dashing and… I don't know… wonderful!" Rose exclaimed passionately.

"But do you love him Rose, or do you just love the attention he pays you? I suppose he tells you you're beautiful and perfect and all sorts of other things. But if another man did the same, would you not feel the same, so long as he was passably good looking? I know what love is, Rose, and it is not silly love letters to married men who pay you compliments. Love is caring for someone more than you care for yourself. Love is knowing that, beyond a doubt, your soul and heart and his are forever part of each other. Love is knowing that you can never be happy with anyone else. Look at me and tell me honestly that you love Terrence Margadale," Mary said, looking Rose hard in the eye.

Rose opened her mouth to answer that of course she loved Terrence, how many times did she have to say it? But something about Mary's expression made her pause. Did she really love him? She had read so many romance novels, with beautiful heroines and dashing heroes, and love that conquered everything, and she wanted so much for that to be her life. But Mary's description of love was somehow more real, more true and more passionate than anything she had read. She looked up from under her eyelashes at Mary and Matthew. Yes, that was real love. The way their every gesture seemed to betray their love for each other, the way they could be in a room full of people and have eyes and ears only for each other, the way their faces were transformed when their eyes met.

And did she feel this for Terrence? Was Mary right, did she love the idea of him more than the man himself?

"I don't know," she said hopelessly, after a long pause.

"Then you don't love him," Mary said simply. Rose was silent. "And if you don't love him, you cannot risk your reputation, your happiness, your whole future, for this man," Mary continued.

"We will say nothing about this to anyone, on one condition," Matthew said. Rose looked up expectantly at him. "You do not even attempt to contact this man, at least as long as you are staying here. And although I cannot force you, I suggest you write to him at some point in the near future and break off your relationship. Do you agree to the condition?"

Rose nodded mutely, then rose suddenly from the sofa, immediately energetic and bright again.

"You have a gramophone!" she said excitedly, rushing over to where the gramophone was kept on the table, with the records in a pile next to it. Mary rolled her eyes; Rose was so ridiculously easily distracted.

"Why didn't anyone tell me you had one?" Rose demanded. "I've always wanted one. We must get it out, it's wasted in here. We must dance, after dinner. You don't have any… jazz, do you?" she asked eagerly, and began to flick through the records.

"No, I'm afraid not. But you're welcome to move it to the hall for dancing," Matthew said.

Rose smiled. "Thank you!" she said, all thoughts of Terrence banished from her mind by the thought of dancing to music from a real gramophone after dinner.

* * *

Robert and Cora had no objection to dancing after dinner, although Violet was no quite so keen. She had been pleased enough with the gramophone because it had made Mary and Matthew so happy, and had been such a perfect present. But she could not make herself like it, and when the family filed out after dinner to the hall, she found a chair as far as possible away from the strange modern contraption.

First, they played a waltz, and Robert and Cora joined in, after being persuaded by Rose, who wanted it to feel as much like a party as possible, despite the fact that even with Edith and Anthony, there were so few people. Rose looked rather put out when she realised that there weren't enough men, with only Anthony, Tom and Robert between everyone.

As the dancing began, she realised she had no one to dance with, since the three men were dancing with their wives. Aunt Violet was sitting in a corner looking vaguely displeased, and Mary was sitting on a chair next to Matthew, engaged in an obviously absorbing conversation with him which left no attention spare for Rose. Rose pouted at being left out, and marched up to Mary.

"Will you dance with me? All of this was my idea, and now I've nobody to dance with. You're not as good as a man, but you'll have to do," she said, looking imploringly at her cousin. Matthew burst out laughing, and Mary frowned at him.

"Have you not been told it's rude to interrupt?" she said irritably. She had been enjoying her time with Matthew, and was annoyed to be interrupted.

"Please?" Rose asked sweetly.

"Go on darling," Matthew encouraged, and Mary reluctantly rose to her feet and allowed herself to be led around by Rose, until she began to enjoy it and began to join in properly. Robert and Cora sat down after a while and instead, watched the young people dancing. Edith danced with Anthony, and Mary, Rose, Sybil and Tom danced with each other in every possible combination to all the music there was which was suitable for dancing, while Matthew was in charge of the gramophone.

Soon, however, Violet decided it was late and time to leave, and Rose was obliged to follow her reluctantly back to the Dower House. Edith and Anthony left at the same time. Then Sybil said she needed to check on Emmeline, and Tom followed her upstairs. Robert and Cora went up to bed soon after.

"Just us then," Mary said quietly.

"One last record before we retire for the night?" Matthew suggested. Mary nodded.

"You pick," she said. "Surprise me."

Matthew thought carefully and looked through the records, although there were not so many that he didn't know precisely what they had already. He made his choice and put it on the gramophone, then held his arms out to Mary. She almost fell into them and leaned her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes as she waited for the scratching sound to turn into music.

"What's this?" she asked as the music began, and she recognised it only vaguely.

"'Looking for the silver lining'. It's from a show that flopped. 'Zip goes a million' or something."

"I like it," Mary murmured. "Oh Matthew, we were so nearly a show that flopped."

"Nearly. But we weren't. We aren't. God, Mary, I love you so much!"

"I know," Mary replied. "And I love you, more than words can express."

"Don't use words then," Matthew said, smiling as Mary raised her head from his shoulder and came closer and closer, her lips red and full and ripe to be kissed. Her lips parted for him as soon as his lips were touching hers, and he felt her shudder with excitement and arousal. He let his lips linger on hers for a moment, then left a trail of kisses down her neck, and up to her ear. She gasped as his tongue touched her there. His hand went to her hair and pulled out the fancy comb, which was hard and in the way. Her silky hair cascaded down her back, and he smelled the familiar scent of vanilla and spice and _Mary_.

Mary's hands went to his hair too, deliberately messing up the carefully pomaded style. That style belonged to an admittedly handsome, but public Matthew. When his hair was allowed to curl naturally and stick up in all directions as it wanted to, he was hers and hers alone. Her delicate fingers massaged his scalp, and the shoulders he hadn't even realised were tense, relaxed.

"You know, what Rose said about how long it takes to know you are in love with someone, it made me think. When did you realise? Was it before or after I proposed the first time?" Matthew murmured.

"Before. Just before. When I saw the way Sybil looked at you, and saw how attentive you were to her when she was hurt. You were so kind, and so heroic, and your attention was focused on her. I must say it's rather embarrassing to admit it was jealousy that finally made me realise. But really, I suppose I was in love with you from… that night at dinner when we laughed over Anthony eating the salt on the dessert. Maybe before that, I'm really not sure. I just didn't recognise the feeling because it was so unfamiliar, and because I hated the idea of you so much. When did you… realise?"

"You know how I felt the first time I saw you. I've told you before. But it struck me properly that evening I ran into you at the village fair. The sight of you made me so incredibly and inexplicably happy, I knew I wasn't thinking of you as a cousin anymore."

"You know," Mary said slowly, "sometimes I almost forget we are cousins. I can't really remember what it was like to look at you and not feel… what I feel now."

"And what _do_ you feel now?" Matthew asked.

"Happy. And warm. And safe. And full of desire to go to bed with you."

"Come on then," Matthew said. "I do think it's about time we went to bed."

Mary smiled and stood up, then went behind Matthew's chair to push him to their room. They undressed each other, not ringing for William and Anna because they couldn't bear to miss a second of each other's company, or the excitement of unlacing Mary's corset and pulling Matthew's bow tie off.

When Mary moved to help Matthew onto the bed though, he held up his hand.

"Actually, I have something to show you," he said nervously.

Mary stood back a little and smiled. "Well you had better hurry up, because I want to be in bed with you _now_."

Matthew smiled back, then took a few deep breaths. He had been able to get onto the bed in his dressing room for a couple of weeks now, but it was only a few days ago he had managed it in the bedroom with the higher bed. He had enlisted William to help him practise whenever Mary was out, and now, he was fairly confident he could do it alone. With Mary watching though, it was more daunting. If he failed, it would ruin the moment, and he would feel like a fool. But he did feel ready, and he did want to show Mary after working so hard at it.

Avoiding looking at Mary, he positioned his chair, placed his hands on the bed, took a deep breath and hauled himself out of his chair and onto the bed. He felt himself losing his balance when he sat on the bed, but caught himself in time, and then carefully lifted up his legs, one at a time. Then, slightly breathless and feeling a little drained, he lay back on the pillows and looked up at Mary with a triumphant smile.

Mary stared at him, one hand over her mouth, and a look of pride and surprise in her eyes. Then she took the two steps to the bed and leaned over to kiss him on the mouth, her arms going around him and holding him tightly.

"I'll take that to mean you approve of my surprise?" he said when she eventually drew away.

"Oh Matthew, of course I approve! How long have you been able to do that?"

"In here, a few days. It's easier in my dressing room. William's been helping."

"I'm so proud of you darling! It never crossed my mind that you'd be able to."

"It hadn't occurred to me until recently. It feels so good though, to be able to do one more thing without help. I had thought I was past the stage at which I could improve at anything, but now I can get up and dressed, and get to bed, without having to rely on someone else to help me."

"It's wonderful. And I think, my darling, that you deserve a reward for this achievement," Mary said softly, her voice thick with emotion and lust. Matthew smiled and pulled her closer.

She proceeded to reward him very thoroughly, and it was a long time before they fell asleep, their naked bodies entwined, warm skin on warm skin, and smiles on their faces even in sleep.


	40. Chapter 40

_**So here is the last chapter! Thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, followed and favorited this story, I could never have finished it without you. When I started writing, I didn't expect the story to end up anywhere near this long, and because of the unusual idea behind it, I didn't expect so much interest in it, or anywhere near as many kind reviews as I have had.**_

 _ **Obviously, (most of) the characters, places and plot do not belong to me, but to the wonderful Julian Fellowes, although I have had a lot of fun borrowing his creations for a while.**_

 _ **I hope you enjoy this last chapter!**_

* * *

After so many weeks of preparation and anticipation, the long-awaited day of the cricket match finally arrived. The tents were set up ready, and the house was a bustle of excitement. Servants were rushing to and from the cricket pitch from the early morning, and even the family were up early.

Tom was awake even earlier, having slept terribly for worrying. He had lain awake for many hours the night before, imagining dropping the ball, falling flat on his face, losing the game for the house. Sybil slept peacefully beside him, exhausted from waking up night after night with Emmeline, and dreaming happily. He had longed to wake her, to hear her comforting and reassuring voice and kiss her. But she deserved these few precious hours of sleep, and he couldn't disturb her. It had been a long night, and several times during the night, he wished time would go faster and he could get up. Whatever happened the next day, it couldn't possibly be worse than this agonising waiting.

But when morning finally came, he was suddenly tired and reluctant to leave the warm sanctuary of the bed. He had to be almost dragged downstairs by a much more lively and enthusiastic Sybil. He felt like a fool in his cricket clothes, which he'd never worn before except to try on. They were Matthew's old ones, which Isobel had found at the back of a cupboard, and which fitted acceptably, but not well.

Unusually, Mary, Sybil and Cora joined the men for breakfast instead of breakfasting in bed, all of them excited and looking forward to the day. Tom looked terrified, and said almost nothing, although Robert didn't notice this, so great was his own excitement. He was confident they would win this year. He had seen all the members of the team play, and was impressed. He was even impressed with the considerable skill Tom had picked up in such a short period of time, although he knew it was Matthew, Mary and Sybil he had to thank for that.

Rose and Violet arrived from the Dower House immediately after breakfast, hours before the game began.

"I hope you finally make good your pledge to win, which you seem to make every year and fail to achieve," was the first thing Violet said to Robert. Robert went slightly red.

"We have the best team we've had for years, since we had James and Patrick. We _will_ win this year, Mama," he said firmly.

Violet raised her eyebrows, as if to say she very much doubted it, but said nothing more.

Rose stood next to her great aunt and laughed silently, disguising it as a cough when she could hold it in no longer and an audible giggle escaped her.

The weather was perfect, being warm and sunny, but not unpleasantly hot. The family chattered excitedly as they made their way down to the cricket pitch an hour or so before the game was due to begin. Already, what seemed like half the village was there, and the village team were in the midst of what appeared to be a very serious and intense team discussion. They looked up warily as the family and servants arrived, assessing the competition, although they were all fairly certain of another victory after the precedent set by the last few years.

Robert, not to be outdone, gathered his team together for a team discussion, only to find that once he had told them how good they were and that they were sure to win this year, he had nothing more to say.

Matthew sat with Mary, watching the teams talk and feeling suddenly isolated and separated from all the able-bodied men who would be playing. Until this moment, he had thought he was ready for this, even after the miserable day he had had the year before. But now, it was painfully obvious that he was different from everyone else. He had been on the school team when he was a boy, and in the college team at Oxford, and knew that he had been good, and that he would have been useful to the house team if he had been able to play. But he had to sit at the edge of the pitch again, like he had the year before, him and Bates the only men not playing.

He looked at Tom wearing his old cricket clothes, the clothes he should have been wearing, the clothes he had worn for the one match he had played here, back in 1913. It seemed so long ago now, it was as if the memories of that day were from another lifetime. Everything had been so very different then, everyone had been so wholly unaware of the horror that was to come. He had done well, and the house team had come fairly close to winning. He remembered thinking when they lost that he would make sure they would win the next year. He had never imagined then that that would be the last proper cricket match he would ever take part in.

And yet he knew he had little cause to be miserable. The day was such a beautiful one, and he was aware of Mary's hand resting lightly on his. He looked up at her face, and saw she had been watching him. She blushed as he looked up and caught her.

"Are you alright, darling?" she asked softly, drawing little circles on the back of his hand with her thumb.

"I'm fine, Mary," he answered automatically. He didn't want her to fuss, and he was determined that whatever his thoughts were about today, he would not ruin it for Mary as he knew he had the year before.

Mary looked at him sceptically and watched his expression carefully. He did look alright, but she remembered last year's cricket match when he had insisted he was fine, and had stayed to watch the whole match, looking visibly miserable all day.

"If you're unhappy, tell me, my darling. We have always promised to be honest with each other. If you don't want to stay and watch, we can go back to the house, or… something," she said.

He paused a minute before answering and sighed. He didn't particularly want to stay and watch, but Mary did, he could tell, and he knew the looks of pity he would get if they left. And there was Tom. He really did want to watch Tom play, and to be there to cheer him on, along with the rest of the team.

He tried for a moment to forget the cricket match, and simply concentrate on that moment. He concentrated on the sensation of her hand on his, the warmth of the sun on his face, the gentle breeze, and… Mary. Mary, his wife, his beloved, darling wife, who was looking at him with such gentle concern and such deep love. And he realised that yes, he really was alright.

"I'm fine," he said, and this time, it was not automatic. It was true. "I _want_ to stay, and so do you. We will enjoy it, darling, you needn't worry about me."

He knew he had said the right thing when Mary smiled warmly and leaned in to kiss his cheek, lingering perhaps a second longer than was strictly acceptable somewhere so public. When she did draw away, she did so slowly, her eyes fixed on his, mesmerised by their bright, intense blue.

"When you two have quite finished, I want to say something to you."

They looked up and saw Tom looking down at them, grinning in a way that made Mary's cheeks go very slightly pink.

"Yes?" she said, her voice almost haughty, as it was so seldom these days, to hide her embarrassment.

Tom grinned wider; he knew her, and he knew what that tone of voice signified. "Thank you, for teaching me. I know I was grumpy about it to start with, but I'm glad. I'm horribly nervous now, but I'm glad. And I can promise, if I drop or miss the ball, or fall flat on my face, it will not be for lack of training."

"I hope nothing of the sort will happen, and I'm sure it won't. And it was nothing. I enjoyed teaching you. It's just a shame Mary and Sybil can't play; if they did, I expect the village wouldn't stand a chance," Matthew replied, smiling back at Tom.

"They certainly wouldn't," Sybil said, appearing at Tom's side with Emmeline in her arms.

"I'm surprised you didn't turn up in trousers and insist on playing, actually," Mary said.

"I thought about it, but next year perhaps. I'm not sure I'm up to it this year, thanks to this young lady," Sybil said, nodding down at Emmeline.

"Well, the world's changing. Why not?" Matthew said. "It would be interesting to see what Robert cares about most: winning at cricket, or propriety and tradition. Perhaps if you begin your campaign now, he will have come around by next year."

Mary thought about it. She had spent so many long days playing with Patrick when she was a child, but that had stopped when she had been deemed too old for it to be appropriate. That had been about the same time everything she liked doing had been deemed inappropriate; riding astride, spending hours playing with Patrick away from her parents, running up and down stairs, going to see Carson, begging for cake from Mrs Patmore. That had been when she had been told in no uncertain terms that it was her duty to marry Patrick and to give him heirs, and to live the circumscribed life of the Countess of Grantham.

She missed many of those things, but cricket had been one of the greatest losses. Edith and Sybil had still been permitted to play, while she had had to sit on a chair and watch, holding a parasol to shield her pale skin from the sun, because her appearance had suddenly become more important that her enjoyment. She had always wanted to play properly again, and now she was married, it seemed like an actual possibility. If Matthew supported her, perhaps Papa would come round; he usually came round to Matthew's plans. He was even beginning to put into action some of Matthew's modern ideas about managing the estate, which he had been so opposed to before. And the world was changing. She could still hardly believe it, but women had voted in the last election. Women were being admitted into medical schools, and were, theoretically at least, allowed to do almost all jobs a man could do. Compared to that, playing cricket hardly seemed revolutionary.

Sybil sat down on a chair next to Mary, and Mary was brought back to the present.

"Are you ready then Tom?" she asked. "I think Papa's gathering the team again."

Tom turned quickly, and saw that Robert was indeed gathering the house team again for a final talk before the match. He ran off to join them, and Sybil called after him,

"Good luck!"

The game was soon underway, and the house team seemed to be acquitting themselves better than they had for years. William did brilliantly, as did Thomas, and then it was Tom's turn. Even from far away in the tent, Sybil could see that his hands were fiddling nervously with the bat, as if he'd never held one before. She longed to get up and give him a reassuring hug, but she didn't, of course. He looked over at her, and she gave him an encouraging nod, the closest she could get to a hug, before he turned his attention to the bowler.

Tom hardly had time to get nervous again before the ball was speeding towards him. He hardly thought, and his hands moved the bat automatically from the hours of practise he had had recently. He felt the ball hit the bat. Good, at least he hadn't made an utter fool of himself. He looked up, to follow the path of the ball, and to his surprise and delight, saw that he had hit it further than he had in all his hours of practise. He gaped in surprise, and almost laughed to himself, then remembered he had to run, and did so.

Matthew, Sybil and even Mary cheered together so loudly for him, half the spectators and even many of the players turned to look at them. Tom didn't need to look to know who was cheering him so loudly, and felt a surge of joy at the sound. He had made Sybil proud, and had made all the hours Matthew and Mary had spent with him worth it.

By the time everyone had batted, the house team were in a better position than they had been even in 1909. As the players came over for refreshment, the grin on Robert's face was almost ridiculously wide and proud.

"Well done, Tom," he said, shaking Tom's hand heartily. "I told you that you could learn in time. I don't know what we'd have done without you."

Tom returned the grin and the handshake, hardly able to believe that this was Lord Grantham, who had barely tolerated him in the house not long ago, who was shaking his hand so enthusiastically.

"You must thank Matthew and your daughters for that," he said. Robert looked down at Matthew, Mary and Sybil.

"Thank you, then," he said sincerely. Then he looked back at Tom. "But still, it was you who hit the ball so well, Tom. Truly, well done."

Then Robert went off to find Cora and a cool drink.

"William did well too," Matthew said. "I must go and find him."

Mary nodded and stood up, going behind Matthew's chair to push him; they had discovered long ago that wheelchairs were apparently not made to be used on grass.

They found William sitting on a wooden chair in the servants' tent, talking to Daisy and making her giggle happily. Mary noticed immediately that William's hand was on Daisy's stomach, and began to wonder.

Daisy stopped laughing when she looked up and saw Lady Mary and Mr Matthew. William might be good friends with Mr Matthew, but she still felt nervous in the presence of the family. And although William was reassuring her, she was worried about their reaction would be to her news. Of course, it wasn't much of a surprise; they had been married for almost two years, and _properly_ married for over a year, but even so, it was clear that she would not be able to keep her job, and she had not forgotten what had happened to Ethel.

William noticed her sudden silence and looked up, then smiled when he saw who was there. He immediately stood and found a chair for Lady Mary, and Mary sat down, smiling gratefully at him.

"We didn't mean to disturb you," Matthew said, raising his eyebrows a little. Daisy blushed and was gripped by a sudden longing to hide behind William, although she resisted this.

"I just wanted to congratulate you. You were brilliant. You'll be Lord Grantham's favourite person at the moment," Matthew continued, smiling at William.

"I think we have a fair chance of winning this year," William said confidently. "I'll be the first time for me; I wasn't here in 1909."

"No, nor was I. I've never seen Lord Grantham anything but disappointed with the result. And doesn't 1909 seem like such a long time ago! It is, I suppose. I didn't even know of the existence of Downton Abbey then, never mind the cricket match." Matthew paused when he noticed that Daisy was not only blushing deeply, but that she was looking at Mary with something like terror. He looked at Mary, and saw that she was looking at Daisy intently. Her expression was not meant to be unfriendly, he knew, but he could see why Daisy might find it intimidating. But why was Mary looking like that, and why did Daisy look so disproportionately scared?

"Daisy, are you alright?" he asked, shooting Mary a bewildered look that meant _what's going on?_

Daisy just looked more terrified. Mary looked hard at Daisy and raised her eyebrows questioningly.

William suddenly understood, remembering where his hand had been resting. He smiled. Daisy had only told him that morning, and he was so overjoyed, he obviously hadn't done a very good job of keeping his promise to keep the secret a little while longer. He looked at Daisy, then looked down at her stomach. He wanted to tell Matthew now. If he kept it secret a moment longer, he would burst. He knew Daisy was scared she would be thrown out, but he knew the family better than to think they would do that. And really, there was no reason they would. Daisy had been worried about sharing Ethel's fate, but the circumstances were entirely different. He and Daisy were married; it was only natural that she would one day become pregnant. There was nothing wrong in it whatsoever. He looked at Lady Mary, and saw that she knew without having to be told. So really, there was nothing to gain in keeping quiet.

"I… I mean we, well… we have some news," he said nervously, but with a certain pride and excitement in his voice. He took Daisy's hand in his and squeezed it gently, hoping she wouldn't mind too much.

Mary nodded and tried to look encouraging, but Matthew continued to look bewildered.

"Daisy's pregnant," William said quickly.

Matthew stared at him, blinked, then a bright smile broke across his face. "Oh William, congratulations! I'm so happy for you, and you too, of course Daisy."

"Yes, congratulations, both of you," Mary said, smiling at Daisy in the hope of stopping her from looking so terrified.

Daisy managed a weak half smile, but still looked worried. William noticed, and put his arm around her. He knew why she was worried, but he couldn't see that there would be a problem.

"When is the baby due?" Mary asked.

"April," Daisy almost whispered.

"Of course you must have one of the cottages, if you want it; you won't be able to bring up a baby in one room in Downton Abbey. I think the one next door to Anna and Bates is empty, isn't it Matthew?" Mary said. Matthew nodded, and Mary added, "Unless of course you have other plans?"

William and Daisy looked at each other. "Thank you, mi'lady. We haven't had much time to make plans yet," William said.

"Think about it. There's plenty of time," Matthew said.

William nodded, then looked back at Daisy. She still looked worried, and that couldn't be good for her in her condition, so he really ought to put her mind to rest as soon as possible.

"Daisy's worried about her job," he said quietly.

Matthew suddenly realised why Daisy had been looking so terrified, and smiled at her reassuringly. "Of course I'm not in charge of that sort of thing, but you don't need to worry," he said, turning to Mary, as he knew she knew more about this kind of thing.

"You will be able to work as long as you want to, and I'm sure that if you want to work again after the baby's born, arrangements can be made," Mary said easily. "Don't worry about anything, just enjoy your wonderful news."

For the first time, Daisy relaxed a little and smiled. Yes, it was wonderful news, and if even Lady Mary, whom she had always found quite cold and intimidating, was so happy for her and so kind, perhaps everything would be alright.

"Thank you," she said, and she squeezed William's hand.

"We'll leave you two alone," Matthew said with a grin. "We won't say a word to anyone, unless you want us to?"

"No, thank you, we'd rather keep it to ourselves for a while yet," William replied.

"Fair enough. Good luck with the rest of the game," Matthew said, and he and Mary went back to the family tent.

"There you are," Robert said as they arrived. "Where were you?"

"Congratulating William," Matthew replied. Robert was not surprised, but couldn't claim to understand either. Matthew's friendship with William was another thing, like working, that he didn't understand about his son-in-law, but simply let pass.

"Yes, he did do well, didn't he," Robert said happily.

"Your chances look good," Matthew observed, and Robert beamed.

"Yes, I did tell everyone that this would be the year we finally win again, and we will."

Then Robert went back to Cora for a final talk before the game began again. Rose appeared, and seeing no empty seat in the immediate vicinity, sat on the ground on a rug that had been laid out.

"Will there be champagne if we win?" she asked. "Only we really ought to have a proper celebration, and everything is always more fun when one is a little drunk."

"And you have experience, do you?" Mary asked, raising her eyebrows.

Rose smiled ruefully. "Not much. But honestly, I think I deserve some reward. I've been sitting with Aunt Violet for the whole game so far, and she's been interrogating me about any 'romantic attachments' I might have formed."

"Well, she's right to worry," Mary said with a meaningful look.

"She is not, it is none of her business, and none of yours either, as a matter of fact," Rose said defiantly.

"Then you ought not to have left your private letter lying around," Mary retorted. Rose looked irritated, but said nothing. "So have you broken it off with Mr Margadale?" Mary asked.

"Like I said, it is none of your business. But I promise I haven't written him any love letters or anything. Nobody will find out, and nobody will know you knew."

"That's not good enough and you know it," Mary replied. Rose looked away, and saw Sybil and Tom walking over to them, and was glad to have an excuse to stop talking about Terrence.

"You were brilliant, Tom!" she enthused, looking at him admiringly, all thoughts of Terrence suddenly far from her mind. Tom smiled and thanked her. He still didn't feel that he knew her very well, but she was close to Sybil and seemed nice enough. He went to find chairs, but when he returned, having succeeded in finding three chairs, Rose said she would rather stay on the rug, and Sybil decided to join her so Emmeline could lie down and kick freely for a while. Tom couldn't resist his daughter, and joined them, leaving the three chairs empty.

He didn't have long with his little family before it was time to resume the game. He kissed Sybil quickly before jumping up and running back onto the pitch, less nervous this time.

The game resumed, and although the village team were good, the house seemed better, and everyone began to wonder if perhaps this really was the year the house team would finally win again.

After a while, Sybil looked up at Mary and saw that her sister was watching Emmeline with a sort of longing, rather than focusing on the game.

"Mary, do you want to hold Emmeline?" she asked, and Mary jumped, brought suddenly out of her thoughts.

"Only if you don't mind," Mary replied, and Sybil shook her head and carefully lifted Emmeline up to pass her to Mary. Mary cradled the baby gently and lovingly, marvelling at how much she had grown even since the last time she had held her. She looked into her niece's lively blue eyes, and allowed herself, just for a second, to imagine them slightly bluer, to imagine that the tiny person in her arms was made of hers and Matthew's love rather than Sybil and Tom's. Just for a second, she allowed herself to imagine having made something so perfect, to imagine being a mother. Because it was possible. She only allowed herself a second to think of it because it was easier not to hope too much, but the truth was, it was perfectly possible that this time next year, she would be a mother herself.

Matthew watched her and he saw what a good mother she would make. She had said it didn't matter to her if she never had a child, but he saw the longing in her eyes. He reached out slowly and rested his hand on Mary's as she held Emmeline's head. For a second, he allowed himself to imagine that this was their little family. He looked at the baby's blue eyes and imagined them a deep chocolate brown. By next year, perhaps his happy imaginings would come true.

Then they were both brought back to reality by Emmeline's cry. Mary looked worriedly to Sybil.

"It's alright, it's not your fault, and I don't think there's anything wrong," Sybil reassured her. "I'll just take her for a walk for a while, that often calms her." She stood up, took Emmeline, and walked away from the cricket pitch, rocking and bouncing her in her arms gently. Rose jumped up and followed her.

Mary and Matthew were silent for a while.

It was Matthew who broke the silence. "You would be a wonderful mother, if we ever... I'm sorry you're not already."

Mary reached for his hand and squeezed it tightly. "You would be a wonderful father. Who knows what the future holds? It's not impossible, is it? But we also make a good aunt and uncle, and that is enough, for now at least. And we have the advantage of being able to hand over the baby when she cries or gets irritable. Don't apologise darling, it is not your fault. And besides, I'd rather have you than a baby any day."

Matthew swallowed. It wasn't as if they hadn't had this conversation before, but Emmeline just made their reality more obvious and made it so much harder not to hope too much. It was a delicate balance; too much hope, and they might be disappointed, too little, and it was depressing. He did want a child so very much, and knew that at least part of Mary did too. But he thought about what she had said. And it was true. She would rather have him than a baby, and he felt the same. He was the most fortunate man in the world to have her as a wife, and next to that, the misfortune of being childless was nothing. And it was true also that they enjoyed being aunt and uncle to Emmeline, and would enjoy the same thing with Edith's children in the future, with luck.

"And I would rather have you than anything or anyone," he said eventually, making Mary smile. "Come here."

Mary looked around at the rest of the family and the other spectators. It was a public place, but nobody was really watching, their attention fixed on the game. And what did it matter what other people thought anyway? She loved her husband, loved him more than she had ever thought it possible to love, and really, what did it matter who knew it? They knew already. She rose to her feet, then settled down carefully on Matthew's lap. She felt him snake his arm around her and she sighed happily. Yes, children were a small price to pay for this, anything was a small price to pay for this. She kissed Matthew briefly, then turned her attention to the game.

"Dr Clarkson's the last," Matthew said as the doctor took the bat and prepared for the bowl. Carson bowled perfectly, but Mary groaned as the bat hit the ball hard. It looked as if it would go far. They were ahead, but not far enough ahead to be safe, even at this late stage. But the ball sailed through the air towards Tom, at the right height for catching.

"Catch it!" Matthew shouted, and Tom reached up and caught the ball. Mary and Matthew watched as a grin spread across his face and he laughed with delight.

"We've won!" Matthew said excitedly. Mary laughed happily and kissed Matthew full on the lips, victory making her bold and uncaring about who saw.

When she drew away, she said, "We've done it, we've finally won!" she said, her voice breathless and excited.

"'We'?" Matthew asked, raising his eyebrows; they had done nothing but watch and cheer.

"We taught him to catch, didn't we? And we're from the house. Definitely 'we'."

At that moment, Tom came running over and shook Matthew's hand.

"I did it! I caught it! We've won! Thank you, I couldn't have done it without you! Where's Sybil? I need to tell her how much I love her," Tom said excitedly, hardly thinking what he was saying in his euphoria. Mary pointed, and he almost ran off to find his wife and child.

"I need to tell you how much I love you," Mary whispered in Matthew's ear.

"And how much is that?" he asked, whispering too.

"This much," Mary said, and kissed him passionately, putting her arms around him and pulling him closer, as he did the same to her. Their tongues met and she shivered with pleasure at the familiar sensation, which was somehow almost more wonderful every time. She poured all her love and joy into the kiss, pressing her lips hard against his, needing him as close to her as was possible.

Matthew lost himself in her and his love for her, forgetting where they were or why he felt so euphorically happy, abandoning all thoughts but love. When he drew away slowly, he looked into her eyes.

"I didn't think it was possible to love as much as I love you. I know our life isn't perfect, but it's so much more wonderful than I ever thought my life would be. I love you, Mary."

Mary rested her head on his shoulder, and Matthew felt wholly contented and happy. He held her tightly and breathed in her familiar scent, which was mingled with the sweet summer smells of freshly cut grass and wildflowers. No, he had been wrong. Nothing could be more perfect than this moment, this wonderful woman in his arms.

Two years ago, he had thought his life was over. He had lost all hope for the future, first with the horrors of the war, and then with the loss of his legs. He had lost all hope of love, of marriage, and of children. He had lost Mary even before all of that. He had just been waiting for some infection to finally end his suffering and relieve his family of the burden he had become. Now, he realised how wrong he had been. It had certainly been the end of his old life, but his new life had been just beginning. Now, he had Mary, he had Downton, he had the rest of the family, and he had the possibility of a child in the future. He didn't know how many years he would have of this life, but he was determined to live every minute to the full.

Mary looked up at his face, her dark brown eyes full of love, framed perfectly by her soft eyelashes, and whispered,

"I love you. I will always love you. That is all there is, all that matters."

Their lips met again, sweeter and calmer and less desperate now, and nothing could have made the moment any more perfect. Whatever changes and challenges the future would bring, they would always have each other and their love, and that really was all that mattered.

* * *

 _ **We have reached the end of this story, but I am in the process of writing the sequel, and the first chapter is already written. It will be posted when I have finished planning the whole story, as I have learned from this story that planning ahead makes updating regularly less difficult.**_ _ **I do have lots of ideas for where things will go from here, but I would be grateful for any suggestions if there are things you would particularly like to happen.**_

 _ **Andromeda**_


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